


Seeing Red

by apoptosis



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Assassins, Avengers Tower, Awkwardness, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Banter, Black Widow - Freeform, Brief mentions of suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Caw Caw Motherfucker, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Clintasha - Freeform, Clintasha Feels, Dark Past, Deaf Clint Barton, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Guilt, Hawkeye - Freeform, Humor, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Language, Natasha Feels, Nicknames, POV Clint Barton, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Pepper Potts, POV Tony Stark, Panic, Panic Attack, Pepperony - Freeform, Pining, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Clint, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protectiveness, Self Destructive Tendancies, The Red Room, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trust Issues, Violence, and where tf is thor?, anxiety attack, bruce is still in hiding, just a really very intelligent system, putting Nat in a cell was a dumb idea, so was insulting Tony's ego, squad goals, tony comes up with dumb names for all his pals, wannabe clintasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 69
Words: 77,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apoptosis/pseuds/apoptosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was washed with shades of red. That room. That hair. That suit. Not to mention all the blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. FOREWORD

Hello readers! first of all, a bit of context for this piece:

Seeing Red follows the MCU canon until just before Age of Ultron, so

  * JARVIS is still a thing, no Ultron, no Friday.
  * Pepper and Tony aren't on a break ...yet,
  * Bucky Barnes has not been seen since he dragged Steve out of the water in The Winter Soldier,
  * they all think Coulson is still dead :')
  * SHEILD is a thing of the past, new SHEILD hasn't been brought in yet.
  * Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are not yet Avengers, neither is Sam Wilson,



 

Also, some of the comic!verse canon has been included:

  * Clint Barton is partially deaf, and uses hearing aids often. He and Natasha Romanov speak in sign langue sometimes.
  * James Barnes may have some history with Natasha Romanov, but I'm not going to give any of the plot away :)



 

This piece was based of roleplays between my friend and I, so half the credit goes to her too. 

 

This fic is the first instalment of what will eventually become a series, I hope. Feedback is always welcome, hope you enjoy :)


	2. TONY 0948 THURSDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is in a cell. Tony comes to gloat. (or maybe he cares more than he is letting on)

 

 

Natasha, looking decidedly worse for wear, was slumped against the wall of the detainment cell, injuries scattered across her body. She picked idly at her nails, hellishly bored. After ranting at her for two hours, Fury had locked her in there until she ' _realised what a stupid ass decision she’d made.'_ Tony lingered outside the doorway for a moment before strutting in and standing a respectable distance from the glass of the cell, silently staring at Natasha, brow furrowed. She didn’t look up, unmoving apart from the occasional blink, still glaring frustratedly at her own hands.  
“Did Fury send you to come and scold me for being ‘ _such a motherfucking idiot_ ’?”  
“Not quite.” Tony grunted in response, stepping forward, still staring down at her. “You may be surprised that I so selflessly came down here of my own accord.”  
She rolled her eyes.  
“Well then, Stark, what exactly do you want?” She shifted a little, biting back a wince as her body ached and burned. She moved to look up at him. “You don’t do anything unless it’s beneficial to you.”  
Tony grinned a tight smile. “You know me so well, darling. Okay, okay, maybe I was a teensy bit curious. Can’t resist a little drama.”  
An infinitesimal smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she shrugged.  
“I suppose you want to know what I did to deserve this…” she gestured to the white walled cell around her. “I guess you’ll find out later anyways, so I might as well tell you before Fury can, just to annoy him.”  
Tony rubbed his hands together, smirking. “Ah yes, tell me all about your ‘ _stupid-ass_ ’ mistakes.”

  
A light chuckle escaped her lips before she sobered up a little. “I guess it started with me stealing Fury’s personal quinjet, ‘cause it’s the only one without a tracker.”  
Tony nodded admiringly, “Nice work. What on earth inspired you to do that?”  
She turned her gaze now to the wall opposite of where she was sitting, keeping her tone level. “I wanted to fly out to Russia. Alone. I didn’t want to be…interfered.”  
His eyes narrowed, and he perched on the edge of a crate so that he was closer to her eye level. “Continue,” he said, cautiously. Natasha didn’t look at him.  
“I’d tracked down the last of the people from the Red Room. It was petty, stupid revenge, supposedly short and sweet and easy. But they had been tipped off, I don’t know how.”  
“Oh, and of course you saw no need to inform any of us about your little trip beforehand.” Tony interrupted, worry tinging his annoyed voice.  
She scowled slightly, glaring daggers at the blank wall. “So you could come? No. Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t have any of you there. It’s not as though I expected it to be difficult anyway. It was better for everyone if I went alone.”  
“Okay, okay. Don’t have a temper tantrum. So… what happened?”

  
She sighed, ignoring his quip at her and continued. “I was outnumbered beyond belief when I arrived. I went down fighting, and when I woke up they were prepping some of their favourite pieces of… equipment… from the original Red Room. I was there for two days before I escaped.” She was still staring at the wall, less aggressively now as her voice quietened. “I got back, Fury got pissed, and now I’m under house arrest to stop me from being ‘stupid enough to go back and finish the job’.”  
“Not surprising. It’s not like you to leave business unfinished. I almost agree with him… also this is entertaining.”  
She rolled her eyes. “Glad someone finds it funny,” she muttered, shrugging. “I suppose it’s better than you being crazy mad at me.”  
“Ah.” Tony stated. “And that is where you severely misjudge my acting skills.” His smile turned to a frown as his voice took on a more serious tone. She looked over to him, turning in her seat to face him, curiously.  
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”  
Tony gnawed on his lip slightly before grumbling quickly;  
“Okay maybe I would have cared a little bit if something bad happened to you… I don’t like you getting yourself hurt.”

  
Her eyebrow quirked upwards. “Tony Stark caring about something other than himself!? God forbid.” She said, sarcastically. “Don’t worry your pretty face over it though, I’m fine, I’m always fine.”  
“Says the one leaning against a cell wall, trying to mask her physical pain behind a face of vaguely pissed off indifference.” He shot back, cooly. She scowled a little, irritated that he could see through her so easily.  
“I am fine,” she countered, pushing herself to sit up straight just to try and prove him wrong, the gouge in her abdomen screaming at the movement. “I’m not dead yet, am I? Then I’m fine!”  
“Sit still.” He snapped, a little harsher than intended. “Okay, you’ve been worse, but you’ve also been a lot better.”  
Her eyes flick to his, head tilting, surprised by his tone. Her stubborn streak shining through, she shrugged, standing up. “Don’t tell me what to do, Stark. And yeah I’ve been better, but then again, so have you. When was the last time you slept properly?”  
His jaw twitched slightly and his eyes narrowed. “Define ‘ _properly_ ’.”  
She stepped closer to the glass wall between them, now looking down at him as he sat on the crate. She folded her arms, biting back a wince. “A whole night. Solidly. Preferably without nightmares, too.”  
Tony was silent for a moment before his mouth stretched into an attempted smile.  
“You know I don’t have time for a whole night of sleep, too much work to do.”  
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t give me that crap, Tony. I can see it in your face, you’re exhausted. The business has been doing fine lately and we haven’t had any major crises, so you’ve had plenty of time. You’re having trouble sleeping, and it’s not good.” A level of concern slipped into her voice as her guard dropped very slightly. He sat up stiffly.  
“This isn’t about me, Romanov.”  
She sat down on the floor in front of him, biting down hard on her tongue to stop a hiss of pain from escaping. “Okay then, what’s this about, Stark?”  
“You put yourself at risk. More so than usual. Even you know you went too far.”  
She groaned, shaking her head, but not meeting his eyes. “It was no more than usual. I’m always in near death situations, and I always come back alive. I don’t see why it’s a problem.”  
“Because I’m not sure you would have cared if you weren’t going to make it back. That’s why, Natasha.” Tony stood up abruptly, turning his eyes down to mindlessly stare at his hands. She watched him for a long moment, silence settling around them until finally she spoke.

  
“So?” She said quietly, shrugging. “Look who’s talking - you don’t seem to give a shit that you’re slowly dying, that you’re over working yourself and you’re gonna burn out.” An odd, rare tone tilted her voice slightly. He clenched and unclenched his fists, before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

He grumbled something about ‘not going to burn out’ before snapping. “I would have cared, Natasha. So that. So then what for me? For the rest of us?”  
She gritted her teeth, throwing her hands up in frustration as she got up, pacing the length of the cell. “You don’t think I’d care if you collapsed and died, because you haven’t slept properly in two months and seventeen days!?” She snapped back. “Yes, I’ve kept track. I’ve been worried. But you don’t give a fuck about yourself so don’t tell me I should care about myself, Tony!” She moved back to sit on the chair, feeling one of her stitches pull out with the sharp movements, she gasped slightly, muttering to herself “der-mo.”  
Tony stared at her in shock, mouth slightly open but no words coming out. “Two months…” He shook his head quickly, gathering his wits about him again to hide his surprise. “Wowee, sure didn’t pick you as the caring type, Tash. They must have drugged you up good and well.”  
She didn’t look at him, irritated that she had let so much slip from her mouth. A frown settled on her lips as she lifted her shirt slightly to check the stitches. A few of them had pulled, and although the wound was now slightly open, a flash of red amongst the blue and black patches, it wasn’t too badly damaged.  
“Anaesthetic and other drugs don’t work on me, Tony,” she muttered, not looking up, “the Red Room developed a serum against it, so we were aware of our surroundings at all times.”

  
Tony chewed his lip as he processed what she had said. “You should really get that fixed.” He indicated the open stitches on her stomach.  
“It’s fine,” she replied instantaneously, still not looking up. “I’d have to tell Fury that I pulled one of the stitches and he’d think I did it purposely so I could get sent to the med bay, so I could try to escape and take another shot at my targets.” She said, shrugging. “It’ll be fine, I’ve had worse.”  
“No. You’re getting that fixed,” Tony replied firmly, “Even if I have to do it myself.”  
She rolled her eyes. “Tony, don’t be stupid, it’s pointless. You don’t need to bother.”  
“I’m rarely stupid, I’m far too intelligent and self centred for that. Now… med bay or me?” He sighed. “Look, I’m even being a gentleman and giving you the choice!”  
She huffed, hesitating. “You.” Nat murmured, finally. She hated going to the med bay, it reminded her all too much of Russia and she dodged it whenever she could.  
“I’m flattered, give me a minute to find a med-kit. Make yourself comfy.” He ducked out of the door with a frown, mulling over their conversation as he searched for medical supplies. Reluctantly, she did as he asked, sitting down on the chair in her cell, waiting for him to return. Her mind couldn’t help but repeat their conversation. ‘I would have cared.’ His words echoed in her head, giving her an odd feeling she couldn’t quite place. Tony came back in, carrying a med kit, and approached the door of the holding cell.  
“Fury is going to love me.” He mumbled as he over wrote the lock and let the door swing open. A slight smile curved on Natasha’s lips and she shrugged.  
“He can’t hate you more than he hates me right now, but don’t worry, I’m not gonna make a run for it and get you into shit.”  
“Glad to hear.” Tony said as he rummaged through the kit, hands slightly shaky from his lack of sleep and nutrition. “Any last words?” He asked jokingly.

  
Natasha eyed Tony’s shaky hands, shooting him an unamused stare. “ _‘Not gonna collapse’_ my ass,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow as if challenging him to argue with her on it. Tony ignored her, disinfecting the skin and threading a needle. “Hold still.” He muttered as he began to fix the sutures. She didn’t move, almost statue like. To her surprise, he was exceptionally gentle. Watching his concentrated expression, she mumbled back in response, “Thank you.”  
He nodded, happy to have helped, but not happy that she’d needed to be patched up in the first place. “Don’t pull those ones out, I’m not fixing you up again.” He said sternly. She scoffed slightly.  
“I wouldn’t expect you too, it’d probably be fine anyway. Don’t tell me what to do unless you’re gonna leave here and get some sleep,” she quipped back. He stared steadily at her for moment.  
“Fine.” He stood, turning to the door. “Keep yourself in one piece until tomorrow morning, at least.” He locked the door behind him and headed for his room. She watched him in surprise, definitely not having expected that reaction. A slight smile of relief pulling at her face at the thought that at least he would try to take care of himself. She moved to be more comfortable, careful not to disturb the sutures.


	3. NATASHA 1100 THURSDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony thinks he's got everyone fooled with his Stark Smile (TM), but Natasha see's straight through the mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little update for those who have enjoyed this so far. this fic is going to build up to quite an in depth and angsty look at what really motivates these characters. eeeeek, brace yourselves. hope you all enjoy xx

Natasha sat still, her mind flicking back over the conversation, eventually landing on his words: ' _You severely misjudge my acting skills.’_ What was that supposed to mean? Sure, he was always putting on a show for the press, but she couldn’t imagine what else he would try and hide, especially from her and the team. Everyone has secrets, she of all people knew that, but what was Tony possibly hiding?

 

She wasn’t tired, her brain still buzzing, in part due to the residual adrenaline. But, she figured she couldn’t preach what she didn’t practise, so she leant between the chair and the wall, and closed her eyes. It always took her ages to fall asleep, as she ran through lists of things she could be spending her time on and mentally checked over the exits of the building. After plotting the nineteenth escape strategy from the cell, she eventually fell into a light slumber.

 

Her sleep was far from peaceful. What she didn’t allow herself to dwell on during the day would always return to her at night. Flashes of red walls and black shadows passed under her eyelids and she awoke breathing heavily. Quickly calming herself, she realised another think she hated about these cells - their lack of a damn clock. She sat around for what she could only guess was a good few hours at least. Getting up and moving to a different spot every so often to stop her muscles cramping, she found herself being more careful than she’d ever been to not tear open her wounds again. Borden set into her mind, having pulled off a bit of wood from the chair, she was now sitting on the floor, carving carefully into the leg. She carved small, surprisingly artistic doodles of objects, starting with guns and now trying to carve the outline of the iron man suit.


	4. TONY 1943 THURSDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is peer pressured into taking care of himself like a normal, functioning human being. This leads to grouchiness.

 

Later in the evening,Tony sat on the edge of his unmade bed. He was surprised and slightly unnerved at how closely Natasha must have been observing him. Especially that she was counting the days he hadn’t slept. He decided to attempt at least one night of sleep, just to get her off his back. Tony crashed out soon after climbing into bed, aided by a few sleeping pills, and fell into a deep and miraculously dreamless slumber. Tony was still out of it when dawn rolled around. His alarm and the sound of the other team members making breakfast didn’t wake him.

 

Tony finally managed to drag himself out of bed by 0718, and shuffled groggily into the kitchen to make coffee. He grabbed a plate of food and carried it with his coffee downstairs to the holding cell. Entering the room, he sat on the same crate as yesterday. Natasha sat up, and looked over at him through the glass. She was quiet for a moment as she observed him, before breaking the silence with an impressed tone.

“You actually slept.”

“Don’t get all proud or anything, but yeah… I did.” He slid the plate of food into the cell. “Hungry?”

A slight smile graced her lips and she shrugged. “I’ll try.” Seeing the food, she raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the gesture of kindness. “You know the point of me being in here is meant to be to punish me, right?” She said, taking the plate gratefully.

He rested his elbows on his knees. “Punishment never works with you. You’re just too damn stoic. Fury’s just keeping you in here to stop you from going back.”

“Well thanks anyway, you didn’t have to bring me anything,” she said, taking a bite. “Are you feeling any better for having slept?”

“I felt fine yesterday,” he sighed, “but now I’m kinda groggy.” He rubbed a hand across his face and took a sip of his coffee. She shook her head, looking back to her food.

“That just means your body is realising how much sleep you’ve missed out on. You probably need another two nights of good sleep before you’ll really feel better for it.” Her answer elicited a groan in response.

“Well then I may as well skip the sleep tonight and go back to feeling _normal._ Two nights is ages away.”

Natasha sat up, turning to face him with an unamused expression on her face. Eyeing him for a long moment, she shrugged, looking back to her food. “Fine, but you have to promise not to tell me what to do either.”She paused, watching him silently. “Stark, have you eaten this morning?”

He rolled his eyes, draining the rest of his coffee. He couldn’t be bothered having this conversation now, so he easily lied.

“Yes, mom.”

She rolled her eyes in return, finishing off the rest of her breakfast, muttering sarcastically.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I meant to pretend that you are able to actually take care of yourself properly?”

“There’s a difference between unable and unwilling, Romanov.” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. That caused her to frown, folding her arms too.

“So why are you so unwilling to even get some rest? You’re burning yourself out, Tony. Why?”

“Oh, you’re a therapist now, too? Great.” he replied bitterly, ignoring her question.

“I skipped my morning workout ‘cause you told me to watch these stitches, so unless you’ve got something to say, I have stuff to do.” She replied, her voice calm and nonchalant, despite her underlying concern for him.

He frowned, and opened his mouth to say something before closing it again and standing.

“Have it your way then,” he said, as he turned to leave.

She watched him begin to walk away, and without thinking, she spoke up again.

“Tony, please,” she paused. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Tony didn’t reply, he hardly even heard her. Lost in his own thoughts, he continued out of the room and to his workshop to tinker with his suits.


	5. NATASHA 0800 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha gets bored in the cell, but she's creative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello readers! sorry about the delay between posting. you'll notice I'm trying to integrate a bit of Russian into Nat's perspective. Rough translation at the bottom. If anyone can correct/improve this please comment xxx

 

She banged on the wall frustratedly, but he kept walking. Just when she managed to have a civilised conversation for once, she’d gone and pissed him right off.

“Fuck,” she muttered, scowling to herself. “Stupid move, Romanov, should have handled that one better.” Sighing irritably, she glanced over her sutures - _yeah, they’ll be fine._  She dropped to the floor to do push ups.

 

She lay on her back, exhaustedly, having maybe overdone her workout simply due to frustration. Her muscles ached, but luckily none of her stitches had pulled…. well, not that much anyways. Tony had left the med kit on the opposite side of the glass, almost as a reminder not to do something stupid. Her mind flicked back to the engineer who’d fixed her up yesterday, (as it kept doing lately, she noted with a slight frown) and she wondered if he was okay.

 

Excruciatingly bored, she began etching into the chair leg again, finishing off the doodle of the iron man suit she’d begun the previous day, despite the fact that she was trying _not_ to think about him. She shouldn’t be so worried, he was probably fine, she told herself again. She huffed, growing annoyed with herself as she scratched out what she’d been etching.

 

“Poluchit’ kontrol’*, Natal’ya,” she muttered, letting her head fall to the floor frustratedly. She hated being locked up in here, and she hated the fact that she’d basically driven away the only company she’d had. She tried to focus on etching something else, maybe a doodle of Fury with devil horns. But the idea of breaking the chair against the wall, which she knew she would only regret later, was becoming more and more of an appealing idea. Natasha was hanging upside down from the chair, her hair draping across the floor, as she stared through the glass. The chair was slightly lopsided - she’d dug through one leg, giving herself a small block of wood, which she was now tossing in one hand. Her odd position was putting stress on her sutures, she could feel the slightly burning in them, but they were probably fine. Feeling a sudden stinging sensation, she sat up to see one of the longer stitches opened up.

“ _Der’mo_ ,” she muttered. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was uncomfortable to say the least. She pulled her shirt down over it, hoping to just ignore it, as she turned the chair, sitting upright on it. She threw the lump of wood at the wall, catching it as it bounced back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *poluchit' kontrol' (получить контроль) - get a grip / gain control [Russian]
> 
> *der'mo (дерьмо) - shit [Russian]


	6. TONY 1053 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to distract himself in his workshop.

Tony wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting at his desk, bent over a broken fixture. His hand slipped, dragging the screw driver across his palm. He wouldn’t have noticed the pain except that the red droplets caught his eye.  
“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled, dropping the screwdriver and pressing his palm against his thigh. He tore a strip from his shirt and wrapped it hastily around his hand, not bothered to get a proper bandage, before going back to tinkering with the machine pieces. Tony found himself growing frustrated with the piece of metal, and considered taking a break to pay Natasha a visit, but decided against it. She was getting too interested in his wellbeing, and he didn’t like it. Tony threw the piece against his desk, groaning, before taking it all apart and starting from the beginning. The throbbing in his hand served well to distract him from the confusion in his mind. 

Time passed and he finally made progress, fixing and improving several pieces of machinery without even standing up once. There were no windows in this part of his lab, and he’d lost track of the time hours ago. He was tempted to grab a bite to eat, and maybe even take something for Nat, but he knew she would be asking questions again and he couldn’t be bothered thinking of answers. So he stayed at his desk, the pain in his hand dulling as the discomfort in his stomach grew. Against better judgement, he came to a compromise and asked Pepper to take a late lunch down to Natasha, but not to mention it was him that suggested it. 

His legs were cramping and going numb, so Tony finally stood and took a walk to stretch his aching muscles. He stopped abruptly when he found himself around the corner from the holding cells. Sighing, he realised he had instinctively headed this way. He stood still for a few moments, deciding wether to proceed or not. Cursing his indecision, Tony sat down on the floor, leaning against the door to the room she was in. It sounded as though she was throwing something small repeatedly against the wall. He scoffed, unsurprised. Tony zoned out, absentmindedly picking at the wound on his hand. He wondered what they’d done to her during those two days she was back in the Red Room. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He eventually got up to return to his room, but stood too quickly, stumbling slightly as his vision blurred for a second. He cursed under his breath, before freezing, hoping Natasha hadn’t heard his footfalls or recognised his voice.


	7. NATASHA 1340 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two stubborn avengers sulking in one room.

When Pepper came in, Natasha turned around in surprise, half hoping it was Stark instead. Masking her expression she eyed the ginger warily, accepting the plate of food with a bit of confusion. Fury probably sent her, she thought, still confused. Maybe he was going soft in his old age or something. Natasha sat in the corner of her cell, trying not to think about the open gash in her abdomen. Why would Fury send food? It didn’t make sense. He knew she could survive a lot longer than this without food, and he obviously was trying to teach her a lesson. Who else could it have been, then? Clint was just as mad… so maybe Tony? But then wouldn’t he have brought it himself, like last time?

Finishing up her plate of food, she set it down and slid it toward the door. Unable to come to an answer that made sense, she began throwing the wooden block harder at the wall, wondering which would chip first. After a few tries, she lobbed the block at the wall and it broke in two. Sighing, she sat up, grabbing the bit of wood she’d been etching with earlier and drawing Fury on one block. She placed it on the chair, and began throwing the other block at it. Not as therapeutic as darts, but still slightly satisfying.

 

Natasha froze in her cell, swearing she had heard a noise outside the room, and fairly certain that the faint mutter she heard had been Tony’s voice. Standing up, she moved to the glass wall and hesitantly called out.

“Stark? Is that you?” Her voice was met with a long silence, and then

“No,” the irritated, but unmistakable voice of Tony Stark grumbled in return, from just outside the door. She rolled her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing out there?”

“Sulking, obviously. It’s what I’m best at.” She heard him leaning against the doorframe, but he was carefully avoiding coming into her line of sight. She bit her lip, not wanting to end up making him leave like last time, despite her concern. Eventually, she replied.

“Do you wanna sulk in here, instead?”

“Both of us sulking in one room? God, that’s gotta be dangerous.” The mumbled reply came before his head poked through the doorway and he moved slightly into the room, leaning against the wall. Seeing him, she shrugged, sitting down on the floor. Out of instinct, she analysed his face, noting with worry that he definitely didn’t look so well.

“Can I ask why you decided to sulk out there, of all places?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Uggghhh…”

She rolled her eyes as he raised his hand, noticing the crumpled cloth wrapped around his palm.

“Fine, whatever. Since you’re here, you may as well use the first aid kit you left.”

His eyebrows raised in slight confusion, and then he seemed to remember about his hand, looking down at the hasty patch up with a sigh. He shuffled forward and knelt on the floor in front of the med box, knowing it would be easier to agree with her than to argue. She went back to throwing the chunk of wood at the wall, almost rhythmically, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“So… do you fancy telling me what you got up to today, or should I start making guesses?”

He pulled out a bandage and antiseptic cream, tugging the dirty material from his hand in silence, ignoring her question like the frustratingly stubborn man he was. She huffed, still facing the wall, but watching him too.

“Okay then,” she said, “you look pretty stiff, I’d guess you didn’t move all day. You hurt your hand, so I’d place a bet that you were in the lab. Am I right so far?” She kept her tone even, knowing she was likely right, and hating it at the same time.

Tony nodded half heartedly, annoyance clouding his face as he disinfected the cut on his palm. She was surprised he replied at all, even if it was just a nod. She shrugged, looking back to the wall as she lobbed the wood again, speaking quieter.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to read you like that, most of the time I don’t even realise I’m doing it. They made it instinctive, back in Russia, to evaluate threats.”

His eyes flicked toward her as he paused, “I guess it’s a double edged sword,” he stated simply, before chucking a bandage on his hand and sitting back on the crate, kicking the med box against the wall. She nodded slightly.

“Yeah, I guess.” She didn’t want to push him too much, fearful he’d leave again, and she wasn’t sure she could deal with the numbing silence of the cell again. Instead, she lay down on the floor, careful to ensure her shirt didn’t ride up as she moved. He stared at her for a few moments, then stared at the roof, then back at her, before he seemed to settle on glaring at the floor, drumming his fingers on his knee almost angrily.

“Why do you care about me?” he blurted out suddenly.

She glanced at him, a little taken aback, but she maintained her cool composure.

“Why?… because you’re one of the team and you’re my friend. I’m sorry, would you prefer I wished you misfortune?”

He didn’t raise his eyes from the ground as he processed her words, shaking his head slightly.

“No… I don’t believe you.”

She looked away from him, staring at the ceiling instead, swallowing as she chose her next words.

“Oh wow, my life is going to fall apart, someone doesn’t believe me.” She muttered, sarcastically. “Believe what you like, Stark, what difference does it make?”

Tony sighed, “I don’t know what to say to you. I’m just trying to figure this out.”

“Figure what out, exactly?” She replied, quietly stretching to reach her wooden block, then tossing it up with one hand.

“We’re both fussing about each other and not giving two shits for ourselves. Something ain’t right there.” He said flatly. She huffed, yanking her top even further down at his words.

“I don’t need someone fussing over me, I’m fine. I’m not about to collapse because I don’t know when to stop,” she mumbled a little bitterly.

Tony clenched his teeth and she could see his shoulders tensing.

“If you’re fine, then so am I.” He hissed, eyes narrowing at her.

She scoffed harshly, sitting up.“Oh, I forget, I don’t sleep, I managed to hurt my own hand whilst overworking today, and I fucking stumbled outside the doorway too. Don’t give me that bullshit, Stark,” she snapped.

“I slept a full night two days ago! And yeah, I grazed my hand, big deal. And maybe the floor outside was slippery! Get off my case, for gods sake.” He growled at her, as though any of his points were valid.

“You only slept a full night because I practically blackmailed you into doing it!” She quipped back, angrily. Standing up and pacing the cell, she ran a hand through her hair. “God, why is it so hard for you to fucking take care of yourself?”

“Because I don’t see the point!” He snapped back, “You seem to care, but won’t give me a logical reason, so I fail to see the importance of changing anything. I’m still alive, aren’t I? Is that not enough?” He also stood, stepping toward the glass as he yelled. She too stepped toward him, regarding him with an odd, rare look across her usually controlled expression.

“I care because you might be alive now but you’re slowly dying, and it’s killing me to be able to do nothing but watch!” She yelled back, hands clenched into fists. She turned her back on him and walked to the other side of the cell, standing, glaring at the wall.

“Then don’t watch.” He stated lowly, before storming out again.


	8. TONY 1436 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony spends some quality time with his least favourite person : himself.

 

Tony went back to his workshop, and dragged his arm across his desk, knocking everything onto the floor as he yelled in anger. He ripped the bandage off his hand and collapsed into a chair, fuming. He sank lower into the chair, mumbling to himself;

“Pepper doesn’t care, Natasha doesn’t care, Steve doesn't care, Barton doesn’t care. Banner and Thor obviously don't care, because they haven't made contact in weeks. Howard didn’t care. Mom didn’t care. None of them care. And neither do I. ” He flexed and clenched his palm a few times, allowing the wound to seep again. He was exhausted, not just physically, but Natasha’s insistence on him sleeping was irksome, and he hate feeling bossed around by anyone, especially her. So he fought the urge to rest.

 

Tony stood and walked to the doorway, grimacing as he used the frame of the door to do chin ups. He dropped back to the ground, the sudden burst of exercise having woken him slightly, as well as increase the ache in his arms. He returned to his desk, and slipped on his chair, thinking. He wondered how much longer Fury would be keeping Natasha under lock and key. How much longer he had until she would be back on his tail, keeping track of his sleep, unable to avoid. He wondered if it would be better to let her seek her revenge. _No, don’t be stupid, Tony._

 

Tony wasn’t leaving his workshop and no one could make him. He moved his largest suit to lean against the door, switching on the electromagnetic brakes in the boots, so no one else could possibly move it out of the way. He unplugged the intercom in the lab. All he wanted was some time to himself. Pulling out a a sketchpad and a biro pen, he began designing his next suit upgrade. But the sharp lines and familiar edges weren’t satisfying him, so he scrunched up the piece of paper and tossed it at the wall.

 

Tony deactivated the brakes on the suit, opening the door slightly to stumble down to. Clint watched him cautiously from the table as Tony made a coffee, skulled it, and began making another. Tony glared at him silently as he carried his mug back to the workshop. Seeking a distraction, Tony curled up on the couch.

“JARVIS, go into the archives and play me the footage and news articles from New York.” Tony demanded, setting his near empty mug down on the floor as the first video began to play. The faces and words blurring into his brain, rekindling many old thoughts, yet he still felt like there was something he wasn’t remembering. He rubbed his eyes, frowning. Something had changed that day, and he could never place his finger on what it was. The bright screen and loud noises worked up to a dull headache that throbbed behind his eyes. Tony reached for the remote to mute the volume, but the button didn’t seem to be working, and he couldn’t be bothered asking JARVIS, so he just ditched the remote at the screen with a grumble. When the volume still continued loudly, Tony rolled over on the couch to bury his face in the cushions, trying to drown out the noise.The explosions and shrapnel and screaming on TV led to memories of explosions and shrapnel and screaming from his time in the dessert, and he buried his face deeper in the pillows, muttering to himself. He thought back to when he discovered all his company’s missiles in the Afghanistan base.

“It was all my fault,” he whispered to himself, still curled into the couch.


	9. NATASHA 1430 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is done with the whole 'stay in the cell' thing.

 

 **“** _Mudak*_ **,”** she muttered to herself. She didn’t move for a long moment, still seething, then finally reached for the chair and chucked it against the wall, watching it shatter as she slid down the wall to sit on the floor, scowling. The mess of broken bits of wood did nothing to help her anger, so instead she started cursing in Russian, first at him, then at herself. Grabbing one of the smaller shards of the splintered chair, she pulled up her shirt and used it to frustratedly dig out the neat stitches he had sewn into her skin. She was still furious, now throwing bits of wood at the glass, in a futile attempt to break through it. If she wasn’t locked up in this damn cell, she would’ve been back in Russia and they wouldn’t have been at each others throats. The glass didn’t even scratch. She chewed her lip, her eyes focusing on the only other object in the room - the crate on the other side of the glass. Seeing that only revived the anger and she snapped bits of broken wood between her fingers, continually snapping it until she was left with tiny splints scattered around her. With nothing now but four walls and a bunch of broken chair parts, Natasha decided that facing the back wall and glaring at it was possibly the only thing she had left to do now. The open wounds on her stomach were still burning, red and raw, but they weren’t bleeding, so she was sure they would be fine.

“Fuck it.” She cursed aloud, still fuming. Those bastards she wanted might be gone by the time she could get her ass back to Russia, but she could always find other assholes. Screw Stark, he could do whatever the fuck he liked. He could die for all she cared. No, that was a lie. She pushed the thought aside. He was right, he was still alive. With a new lease of determination to get out of this cell wether it killed her, she scanned what she had with a frown. One broken chair, a short bit of thread from her stitches, and an empty plate with cutlery. Huffing irritably, she banged on the glass.

“JARVIS, if you’re there, tell Fury I need the bathroom,” she shouted.

“Miss Romanov,” the disembodied voice replied, “I have been monitoring your vital organs since you were placed in the cell. I must inform you that what you have stated is in fact, a lie. You will be escorted to the bathroom when my system views it as necessary.”

 **“** _Vydayushchiysya_ **,”** she muttered sarcastically. That was kind of disturbing, and now she was stuck until she really _did_ need to pee. Stupid, stupid, fancy machines built by stupid, stupid Stark. Angry, and running out of ideas, she decided to sleep on it, hoping that maybe when she woke up, she’d have a strike of genius that would allow her to escape. Shifting some of the broken bits of wood, she sat down against the corner of the room with a sigh, closing her eyes.

 

Patience was not one of Natasha’s virtues. Not in instances like this. She could wait for three hours above a door for a target to walk beneath her, but waiting even ten minutes to fall asleep was not easy. When she did finally fall asleep, her dreams were filled with distorted images. Flashbacks to the Red Room, mixed up with aliens and monsters and guns and arrows and knives and metal suits. However, as an extremely light sleeper, it wasn’t long until she woke up to an odd noise. Not moving, Natasha scanned the cell around her for any changes, looking between her eyelashes, a habit from all too often waking up in dangerous situations. The only thing out of place was a sheet of paper on the floor by the cell door. The open cell door. Tentatively moving towards it, she noted that it was a handwritten by Fury.

_I’m letting you out under house arrest, because leaving you in here any longer looks like its going to cause more damage than good. -NF_

Wary that this was just some trap, she made her way down the corridor quietly. She started to scout through the tower. When she passed the door to Stark’s lab, she could hear large crashing sounds from - was that New York? After a moments hesitation, she scowled at her actions and pressed onwards. Natasha kept walking, but her mind kept going back to wondering what the hell Tony was doing watching all that old footage. She’d walked around in circles, every door out of the building was locked against her. The only way to override JARVIS would be from the main computer… in Stark’s workshop. Great.

 

She didn’t want to see him. She really, _really_ didn’t want to, and she was still rather pissed off. Butshe needed access to that computer. Sighing, she tried the door, but something heavy was blocking it. Slamming her body into it with as much force as possible didn’t seem to work either.

“Shit,” she mumbled, then froze, frowning. She hoped he hadn’t heard. If he knew it was her trying to break in, he’d just barricade any possible entrances. Well, the door wasn’t really an option anyways, so maybe she should try the vents. She pulled off her shoe and threw it at the vent above her to open it. Then pushed off the wall and jumped up, grabbing onto the edge of the vent and pulling herself up into it. The metal creaked loudly in the process, and she paused, cursing the noise. Crawling through the air vents had never been her preferred method of travel, and she knew better than to invade Barton’s escape routes. She shuffled along the metal pipe and eventually got to a metal grate right above Tony’s workshop. She could hear him now, a tone of voice she’d rarely ever encountered, making her feel a little less angry, and a bit more sorry. When she saw him walk almost right under the grate, she knew she had no choice but to reveal herself. She sighed, allowing her head to slam onto the metal in front of her. Fuck you Clint, and your stupid ‘teach Natasha sympathy’ idea. This was going to be awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mudak (Мудак) - asshole [Russian]
> 
> ** vydayushchiysya (выдающийся) - brilliant [Russian]


	10. TONY 1615 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha drops in (ha, haha, I'm so funny) to annoy Tony.

Tony froze as he heard a loud noise against the door, staying dead still and listening to see who, or what, was there.  
“Rogers?” Tony called out, his throat parched, wondering who would be out there. “Barton?” No reply came, but the creaking of metal could be heard above him. He stood warily, trying to follow the sound.  
“JARVIS… who’s here?” An edge of fear tinged his voice. The silence was interrupted again by a shuffling creak which seemed to be coming from the ceiling.  
“JARVIS buddy, don’t you dare ignore me!” Tony said desperately, as he balled his hands into fists and held them wearily in front of his chest. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Natasha’s voice rang out clearly from above him.  
“Stark, don’t freak out. It’s me.” Her irritated tone filled the room. “I’m in the vent.”  
His eyes widened, but his fists didn’t drop. He’d bloody well freak out if he wanted to.  
“Okay… One - why aren’t you in the cell. And two - why the fuck are you in my vent!?”  
“Fury let me out under house arrest… and I needed to use your computer.” The bored reply came.  
“You’re not going anywhere near my computer. Still doesn’t answer why you climbed into the god damn air vent!”  
“Cause you blocked the damn door and I needed to get in!” She retorted. “C’mon Stark, five minutes on your computer and I won’t bug you again.” She promised.  
“I did what?” Tony mumbled, looking toward the door, where his suit was still standing. “Ah… yeah… I forgot. You know what, you seem to be having fun up there. Take a nap or something.” He grumbled, turning back to the couch.  
“I’m going to have to take a rain check on that one,” she muttered back, pushing on the grate, “and I’m using your computer, it’s not up for discussion.”  
“You bloody ain’t Romanov. Now bugger off and leave me be.” Tony grumbled, glaring toward the vent.  
“Don’t tell me what to do, Stark,” she replied, as the vent popped off and crashed to the floor, “It won’t end well for either of us.”  
“Is that a threat, spider lady?” Tony retorted, clenching his fists as he glared up at her. She dropped out of the vent and landed perfectly on the floor in front of him, meeting his glare with an equally dangerous stare.  
“Don’t get in my way and you won’t have to find out,” she muttered, moving toward the desk.

“Does Barton know you’re out here? Hey - don’t touch my stuff!” Without thinking, he reached forward to grasp her arm. She twisted out of his hold easily, continuing toward the computer. He sighed, exasperated.  
“JARVIS, lock out my computer. Erase all access rights, even mine, for the next few hours.” He grumbled. Natasha darted to look at the screen, but JARVIS was far quicker, and she scowled. She hissed something at him that sounded like Russian, but he didn’t want to know what it meant.  
“What did you want my computer for? I’m guessing it wasn’t for minesweeper, so what are you up to?” Tony demanded, exhausted, and losing his patience.  
“I needed to get JARVIS to open a door for me,” she grumbled, pushing past him and making her way to the door. She gestured to the large suit against it. “If you’d be so kind? I’d prefer not to take the vent again.”  
“Which door?” Tony tilted his head slightly. The only doors locked to her at present were the infirmary the gym and… all exits from the building. Surely she wasn’t stubborn enough to try and go back so soon.  
“Any door out of this bloody tower!”  
“I think you’re missing the point of house arrest,” Tony rolled his eyes.  
“That’s only to stop me going after my targets, but they’re already long gone, so even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t fly out to Russia for that.” She didn’t seem to be lying, but Tony still doubted she was being completely honest.  
“Still, I’m with eyepatch on this one,” he said with a frown, “You’re grounded.”  
“This is coming from someone who never obeys the rules. Yeah, I don’t think so,” she mumbled, deciding to try and shift the suit out of the way herself. Tony crossed his arms and watched her, unamused. She continued trying, in vain.

“What were you even doing watching the New York stuff again?” she asked, turning back to face him.  
“Are you spying on me or what?” He snapped, clenching his teeth.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, you had it so loud you could hear it on the floor above you!” She snapped back. “Why the hell would I spy on you?”  
“Well I’m not used to other people being on this floor!” He retorted. “You tell me, I’m not the one keeping track of other peoples sleep schedules!”  
“I didn’t mean to, its not my fault it was so damn obvious!” She said with a frown, clenching her fist.  
“Only because you’re trained to read people like magazines!”  
“Do you think I asked for that?” Her voice was dangerously low, and seething with anger. “You don’t even know the half of it, Stark, your life has been so damn easy.”  
“How dare you even compare your life to mine,” his eyes narrowed, “just because you went to ballet school, doesn’t mean I had a walk in the park, princess!” He hissed.  
“I’m sorry, how is growing up with a shitload of money not a walk in the park?” She gave up trying to move the suit from the door, and spun around to face him. “Don’t call me that, you know nothing about me, Stark.”  
“Wealth doesn’t heal wounds, Romanov! What was I supposed to do? Bribe my father to stop hitting me? Buy my own parents back from God? Buy my second set back too?” He screeched, throwing his arms up in frustration. She flinched at his words, pausing. She stood silently for a few moments, staring at him with an odd expression.  
“Sorry,” she mumbled eventually.  
“God damn right you are.” He grumbled, going back to sit on his chair with a grunt.  
She turned to look at him with a scathing glare. “Don’t you dare act like I was such a bitch, you had no right to comment on my past.”  
“Hate to sound like a three year old, but you started this!” Tony sighed.  
“Well, you certainly act like a three year old,” she muttered, then stared at him incredulously, “wait I started this?!”  
He tugged his hair, “You’re the one who dropped down from the ceiling telling me how supposedly easy my life has been.”  
“Only because you decided to comment on things you know nothing about, Stark!”  
“I might say the same about you commenting on my lifestyle choices.” He growled under his breath, turning away from her and walking to his desk.  
“I know from the bags under your eyes and the stiffness in your walk if you have worked all night. You might be a genius, but you don’t know everything thing, and you certainly don’t know anything about me.”  
“I’ve never claimed to,” Tony sighed, slouching over his desk and grabbing a random object to tinker with.  
“You chose to comment on it as if you knew at least something of my background and training.” She replied, still angry.  
“Okay, whatever, don’t get your latex suit in a twist, just chill out!” He dropped his head to make a thud on the desk and left it there. The cold metal felt nice against his burning forehead. He could stay here a while. 

“Stark?” He heard her approaching him slowly. “Tony, you okay?”  
“Marvellous.” He grunted sarcastically, not lifting his head. The bright LEDs in the lab weren’t helping his headache, and he was getting incredibly frustrated her her defensive arguing.  
“You gonna explain why you’re just lying on the desk… or is that just another weird think you do when things don’t go your way.”  
“Just a weird thing I do. Besides, s’comfy.” He mumbled, staying still. His muscles too sore to raise his heavy head.  
“Right,” she replied, not wanting to piss him off any further, “well sorry to disturb you but could you help me move this bloody suit already?”  
“Can’t you just leave the way you got in?”  
“No. Get up and help me for fuck’s sake.” She started getting angry again, balling her firsts.  
He let out an animated gasp, “Tashie said a naughty word! I’m telling Steve!” He said in mock horror.  
“Don’t calle me Tashie.” She gritted her teeth, “are you asking for me to shoot you? Just give me a hand, Stark!”  
“Do you want me to ask? I’m not used to having to ask for things for things I want. JARVIS, give her a hand, buddy.” On cue, the hand gauntlet of the iron man suit detached and fell, landing with a band at Natasha’s foot. She looked from the suit to the hand, to Tony, back to the hand on the floor.  
“Asshole,” she muttered, picking up the surprisingly light piece of armour, “I’m not used to asking for thing either, Stark, generally threatening people works quite well, if not better.” She warned.  
“Trust me, I feel very threatened. I’m trembling in my ‘tremble-resistant’ boots.” He retorted, slowly lifting his head from the desk. In a flash of movement she spun around and he barely registered the iron glove whirling past his ear until he heard it crash against the wall behind him. He froze, trying not to swear or let his fear show. Crazy woman had nearly taken out his eyeball. How rude.  
“You better not have scratched anything.” He said quietly, trying to keep a level of humour in the tense situation.  
“You’re supposedly bright, Stark, haven’t you realised its not safe to be in a room alone with me normally, let alone when you’ve pissed me off?”

Of course he knew it was dangerous. He was more than just ‘bright.’ But, he’d weighed up the danger against how much he couldn’t be bothered moving, and the fact that he wasn’t really terribly concerned for his safety at current, and calculated that it was worth the risk if it meant he got to pester her.  
“To be honest, I’ve been too busy trying to comprehend how you went from the concerned mother who cares too much to the angry spider lady.” He stated as he slowly stood up. Her expression tightened, and she crossed her arms. He realised he’d hit a sore spot. Good one, genius.  
“Shut up, Stark. Just let me out of your damn workshop already.”  
He walked over to the suit by the door and pressed a button near the ankle of the armour, before straightening up and sliding the suit out of the way with ease.  
“Brakes were on.” He chuckled softly, smirking. She scowled at him and rushed through the doorway and down the hallway almost robotically. He let the door swish closed, and slid to the floor, where he stayed for the next few hours, cracking his knuckles and wringing his hands as his thoughts systematically replayed every word and action.


	11. NATASHA 1700 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat catches Tony doing some...reading.

She stalked down the hallways, eventually finding her feet leading her in circles. Stuck in this stupid building for at least another hour or so until she could try and hack JARVIS again. With nothing better to do, she tried for the gym and firing range. Both of which were locked against her. Fantastic. She couldn’t believe Tony had even had the audacity to begin talking about what she had been through. Sure, his childhood sounded kinda shitty, but he had no right to bring up her training in the first place, as if she could help it.

Natasha’s room had been ransacked of every firearm she’d stolen and hidden, which annoyed her beyond belief. Other than a large duffle bag that sat in the corner, the room only contained the bare minimal supplies. Lacking any ideas at all now, she threw herself on the single bed with a frown. Adrenaline had coursed through her ever since she’d flown out to Russia, and now exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her. Setting an alarm for fifty minutes, she decided to try and catch up on some rest so she could be in top form to get out when Stark’s computer was functioning again.

 

The short nap helped her mind to focus, and she chose to shower and get changed into casual yet practical sweatpants and a black tee shirt. Bland enough to make her look unsuspicious, yet not restrictive when she needed to move quickly. It had been a couple of hours now since he had locked his computer, so she figured she’d check if he was still in the workshop.

Making her way back, she figured she’d at least try to be half decent, and knock on the door. He probably wouldn’t expect it to be her anyway. When there wasn’t a response, she assumed it was empty. Pushing open the door, she entered only to see only slightly watery eyed mechanic hunched over his laptop.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she walked up behind him, only catching a glimpse of the screen before her eyes widened and she froze in horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter, but theres a few real long ones coming up. you guys should all comment and stuff, I'd love some feedback :)


	12. TONY 1700 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two can keep a secret when neither of them have any social skills...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for y'all and especially for my friend who's been writing this with me :)
> 
> Also if y'all wouldn't mind dropping a comment would be great. Any feedback would be appreciated. Do you want more frequent updates? Longer/shorter chapters? 
> 
> talk to meeeeeeeeee

 

Tony knew Natasha’s life hadn’t been easy, and he was in no way trying to suggest that he had it harder, but he was still annoyed that she had even tried to compare their nightmares. Eventually he stood, stiffly, and went back to his desk, grabbing a drink on the way and sitting down to distract himself with work. Unable to silence the pestering thoughts in his mind, he threw his tools down in exasperation and pulled out his laptop.

“JARVIS, bring up any files you have on Natasha…” he said hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to find out what they held.

 

* * *

 

She had covered her tracks well, leaving minimal information available for Tony’s archives to find. He began reading, sinking into his chair with an ill feeling in his stomach. The words were burning into his eyes. He wanted to stop reading, but he knew he had hardly skimmed the surface of the stranger he thought he knew. He rubbed his hand across his face and sat up a little straighter to ease out the cramping in his back. Tony wasn’t sure how long he had been reading, all he knew was that his eyes were watering, and it might not have been just from the bright screen. He yawned, leaning backwards to stretch slightly.

That was when he noticed the shadow in the corner.

 

“Kill screen!” He cursed, under his breath. The screen turned black, and he slowly turned to face Natasha. “Well… hi.”

She didn’t say anything, just stare at the screen in shock. Her voice was quiet and careful, giving nothing away.

“Stark… what were you doing?” She asked slowly, in a painfully monotonous whisper.

He knew he had to pick his words carefully. They were in a tentative situation to begin with, but now the air in the room had become so fragile. He took a breath, before calmly trying to explain himself in a way that was least likely to get his head removed from his shoulders.

“You seemed adamant of the fact that I didn’t know a thing about you, or your past. I realised that was true, although of course you know a fair deal about me. I knew you were unlikely to open up about anything at all, so I took it upon myself to level the playing field.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him in silence. A million emotions seemed to be flitting across her eyes, but her face was unreadable. _Freak_.

“Natasha.” Tony began slowly. “You can take the fact that I’m still sitting here, calmly speaking to you, and not running from the room or trying to attack you, as proof that this doesn’t drastically change how I view you… Alright?” He eyed her warily, having never seen her so silent or still, except when she was waiting for a target. “Natasha?”

She shook her head infinitesimally, and she mumbled “No, no, no,” repetitively. “That just means you haven’t even scratched the surface yet. Or that you have and you’re just bluffing because you’re scared of me. Which I can’t blame you for.”

“I’m not even going to try to pretend not to be scared of you. To be honest, you’ve always been pretty intimidating, especially when you straighten your hair. But… these are just words on a screen, so unless you prove otherwise, I’m going to continue to see you as the person I knew this morning.” He spoke slowly, trying to process everything he had read whilst trying to avoid being skinned alive by a retired soviet weapon.

“They’re not just words, Stark, you can’t just accept it like that. You’re in denial or you’re blocking it out or you still haven’t come to terms with it. I think what you’ve seen is proof enough. I need to go.” She moved backwards toward the door as she spoke. Against all better judgement, he lunged forward to grab her arm, and turn her back to face him.

“Natasha… I’m sorry.” He said simply, before dropping her arm and backing away, eyes fixed on the ground. She froze, her body tensing up instinctively as she watched him.

“You shouldn’t be sorry, you deserved to know,” she said flatly, “but after reading all that, you should know better than to even want to touch me.”

“I’m not as shallow as everyone seems to think-“ Tony began,

“Not as smart either, apparently.”

“We’ve all got pasts we aren’t proud of, Nat. It doesn’t have to shape our future."

“You should know by know that I’m dangerous and untrustworthy. You’re wrong, is not just my past, it’s who I am, and that won’t change. Look, I appreciate that maybe you are trying to be nice for whatever reason, but I’ve come to terms with what I am, and now you know, so you should too.” Her mask of indifference went back up, her expression empty as she folder her arms. “I didn’t come to chat, I came to use your computer.”

 

He ran his hand through his hair. “No.” He stated firmly. Not that she had made a request, he was simply denying anything that she had tried to convince him of.

“You aren’t doing this to me agin. I’m using that computer. I’m not here to debate with you, about anything.” She replied, just as firmly, moving past him and toward the desk again.

“JARVIS, you know the drill.” He said with a sigh. “I can’t let you leave.” He said, his tone apologetic, but his eyes fierce.

“Why the hell not!?” She snapped, aggravated. “Come on, I figure if you’ve read all that, then any reasons you had for staying loyal to Fury would be hopelessly outnumbered by reasons to let me go out and get killed!”

“‘Loyal’ and ‘Fury’ aren’t words that often go together. This isn’t about him.” He gnawed his bottom lip.

“Then what reason could you possibly have not to let me leave?” She asked, exasperated.

“I swear we had this conversation yesterday!” He groaned. “It’s just not happening, okay. Deal with it. You’re on house arrest for a reason!”

“Yesterday you didn’t know what you know about me now,” she muttered bitterly, brushing her fingers through her hair as she turned away, still keeping up her blank facade. “Fine, since I’m here, I bet you have a shitload of questions about me now, huh?” Her tone was surprisingly calm as she took a seat on the arm of the couch. He paused, unsure. Of course he had questions, but asking anything of a serious matter wasn't likely to improve the mood.

 

“Can you tell me what happened in Budapest?” he finally queried, noting the slight surprise on her face.

“Budapest was one of the very first Strike Team Delta missions,” she replied, eyebrow raised slightly. “It was a recon, supposedly, but of course nothing is ever that simple. I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have done, terrible, unmentionable things - the report is oho redacted I didn’t understand the point of having us write one in the first place - I’d only just really gotten out of the KGB. So.. where Barton would have bartered or bargained… I threatened and tortured.”

“So… no Katniss Everdeen love child? No happy times between you and bird guy?” He was disappointed. “The theories are all wrong, then.”

“ _What?_ That’s what you guys all thought!” Taken aback a little, she stared at him. “Me and Barton… having - how could you think… thats impossible.”

“Not impossible, just… improbable. Ah, well. I owe Bruce some cash then. But in terms of your other nasty secrets, they’re yours. Its none of my business. I won’t go snooping again.”

She stared at him, an odd expression on her face. She sighed, finally. “Tony, did you not find the KGB file? Or my med file? It really is _physically_ impossible.”

“Ah.” He really did have a way with words. “Yes… that part. There were some aspects I was kind hoping had been over dramatised. However the bet wasn’t on you two having a little baby killer, it was just on you guys hooking up. So… do I still owe Bruce?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but no, Tony, theres nothing between Barton and I. Never has been. And sorry to be even more of a disappointment, but those files are pretty accurate.” She shrugged it off.

“So.. you’re not gonna rip my eyes out and make me swallow them because I pried into your secrets?”

“Not unless you ask nicely. Besides, thats a very impractical method of punishment, not what I’d choose, geez.” She smirked.

“Ah, practicality. How could I ever be so daft.” He mused. “Well, if you’re done with not killing me…” He trailed off, not wanting to outright tell her to leave, but needing time alone to gather his thoughts. She seemed to catch on.

“I’ve got stuff to do, plus I want to go tell Barton you placed bets on us. Thats disgusting, by the way.” She left swiftly, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh great, now he’s going to drop down and tackle me next time I leave the lab. Never hear that sonuvabitch coming.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to my amazeballs writing buddy DD. Check out her insta @psychoassassins for a daily dose of marvel feels :)


	13. NATASHA 1840 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat takes a trip down memory lane...

 

She kept walking until she was a fair distance from the lab, her mind heavy with memories and thoughts, and the fact that he now knew _everything_. She wasn’t going to go see Clint, even though she would have liked to talk to him. He would be furious with her, and she didn’t want to deal with that until she had no other choice.  
 ****

She slid down the wall in the corridor, just outside her room, not bothering to enter. She sat on the floor, her legs tucked under her, resting her head back against the wall. Tony hadn’t seemed certain about all the ‘ _it’s okay, I don’t see you differently’_ crap, but fear and cowardice had taken over, and she preferred to pretend to his face, rather than call him out and actually have to deal with the fact that he could probably barely stand looking at her anymore. His reasoning was perfect, and she couldn’t fault it as much as she so desperately wanted to. She felt vulnerable, and exposed. She hated it, but she could hardly snap at him for reading her files, telling him it was the wrong thing to do. After all, she had been requested to do all the same research on him before she’d gone under cover.

It was probably a really bad idea… but she needed to know just what he had seen. Pushing herself up, she dragged herself to her room, sitting down again on the floor at the foot of her bed. She grabbed her laptop (courtesy of Stark Industries of course), and typed her name into the search bar tentatively, bringing up all the relevant files.

* * *

A whole range of different documents appeared, half of them too recent, and rather irrelevant, so she sorted them by date, and began at the beginning. A sick feeling settled in her stomach as her eyes scanned the words, memories which were only too familiar began to resurface.

_Der'mo_. There was literally everything she could possibly imagine here, from Red Room info, to stolen KGB documents, the old SHEILD forms and files on her, from when she was a threat rather than an asset. Pages and pages on her training, her youth, her original Red Room reports, written in her delicate Russian handwriting, with attached translations. How had Fury even gotten hold of all of this?

She felt her eyes beginning to well up and she cursed herself - there was nothing she could do now - but that of course did not stop a couple of stray drops streaking down her cheeks. Natasha wondered whether Tony would talk to anyone about what he’d read. After all, it was a a hell of a lot of shit to deal with, and she wouldn’t blame him for needing to talk about it to someone else. She just wasn’t sure if she could deal with another person unable to stand being around her afterwards.

 

A soft, robotic beep distracted her from her reading. She jumped, pushing herself away immediately, defensive. She was half expecting a bomb. Instead, she was met with a tiny probe thing, rolling through the door. A crudely drawn face on the front of it indicated that it could only have been sent from one person. _Damn it, Stark_.

She couldn’t help but smile very slightly at the sight of the tiny machine nudging at her ankles. She quickly wiped her eyes, suddenly realising that it probably had a camera of sorts. She hoped if Stark was watching, he hand’t noticed her emotion. She noticed a small piece of paper tucked into the metal work, and bent to carefully pull it out.

Unfolding it, she saw a scratchy drawing in blue biro of a tall stick figure man with long hair, holding a hammer, and the hastily scribbled words: ‘ _I still trust you more than I trust that Asgaurdian.’_ A small chuckle escaped her lips, shaking her head slightly. She got up and grabbed a pen, sketching a smashed mug of coffee beside the figure and adding a speech bubble ‘ _another!’_ beside it. One of Thor’s favourite memories of his first time on earth, trying to adjust to their culture. She scrawled underneath it: _‘You can definitely trust me with your coffee mugs.’_

She slid the slip of paper back into the machine and turned it around to face the door again, nudging it gently. As the probe left, she turned back towards the laptop, her eyes scanning over the files once more as she closed them. How had he managed to deal with all the shit she had done, when she could barely deal with it herself.

 

Shutting the lid of the laptop, she realised she really had nothing to do. Normally she spent all her free time she had training, or catching up on sleep. Tony wasn’t going to let her leave, so she was stuck inside. After a good few minutes thinking, she decided to do something she hadn’t done in a long time. She got up, and headed to the kitchen.

 


	14. TONY 1840 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony lost the 'childhood trauma' contest.

The moment she was gone, Tony had dropped all his tools back onto the bench and hung his head in his hands. He cursed under his breath as he finally sorted through and began to process what he had read. It sure wasn’t nice. Reevaluating, he concluded that her (lack of a) childhood had definitely been more damaging and traumatising that poor attention seeking rich boy Tony Stark’s was.   
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He smashed his forehead on the bench top, regretting all the ill conceived taunts and jests he had made about her past. He’d had no idea. Tony, being the foolishly clumsy man he was, of course managed to bring his forehead down on a loose screw, and he hissed as it dug into the skin above his left eyebrow.  
“Aargh mother fricken-” he reeled backwards, pressing a palm against his face with a groan. He realised that he had left all her documents open on his computer when he locked the screen. He opened his laptop again, and logged in to close them. When the screen lit back up, he noticed a small green dot in the bottom corner, indicating that the file was live on another computer in the building. There was only one person that could be.   
Unsure of wether he should do something, Tony rummaged through his drawers until he found the small, three wheeled probe he had designed in high school. Basic, but fully functioning of course. He had no idea how it had ended up here, but he wasn’t gonna waste time trying to figure that out. He grabbed a permanent marker and drew a happy face on the front of it before placing it on the floor. He tore a piece of paper from his work book and scribbled hastily on it, tucking it into the little device before using his laptop keys to steer it toward the elevator. He drove the machine toward Natasha’s room, luckily the door was slightly ajar, so he steered it in, and stopped it, making it give out a small beep to alert her of its presence. 

After a few minutes, she tucked the piece of paper back in and sent it back to him. When the little machine arrived back at his door, he pulled out the slip of paper and unfolded it. A relieved smile washed over his face when he saw that she as still in a good enough mood to be making jokes. He folded the drawing back up and tucked it into his pocket, before deactivating the probe and placing it on a shelf. He deemed it necessary to spend some time Widow-proofing his computer, and re-encoding all the security programs. He knew she was good at hacking, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the damage to his ego if she managed to outwit his computers. Eventually, he decided to just reprogram the whole towers security measures against everyone inside, just in case.   
A whisper in the back of his mind told him that he was being paranoid. He convinced himself that he was just being prepared.   
What possible reason would he have to be paranoid? Its not like he had a history of being stabbed in the back by those he trusted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we aren't even half way through this yet, so buckle your seatbelts :)


	15. NATASHA 2000 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat comes up with another (good/bad/awful) plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finsihed the draft RP for this storyline today (eeeeeeeeeek). So all thats left to do is type it up and proofread. I plan to be updating much more frequently over the next few weeks until it's completed :)
> 
> (please pleeeease comment. even if all you say is CHEESE or *HULK SMASH*, the effort would be greatly appreciated)
> 
>  
> 
> [pretty please]

 

With all the memories and history coming back to her, she needed to distract herself with something as unrelated as possible. So, she’d settled on making American pancakes, one of the few things she actually could make successfully. Barton had taught her when he was, as he put it, ‘ _rehabilitating’_ her.

Maybe she could give some to Stark too.

Maybe she could drug them and get to his computer.

_No, Romanov. He trusts you, dammit. Don’t be stupid._

 

Getting out the ingredients necessary, she sighed, feeling rather conflicted. Yeah, Stark trusted her, but not enough to break her house arrest, and not enough to see her personally, feeling more safe sending a bot. She didn’t blame him, though, with the knowledge of what she had done, what she could do. It was hardly surprising.

Besides, if she drugged him, and managed to get out, his opinion on her wouldn’t matter. And if it didn’t work… well, she didn’t have many privileges to lose. Or any trust left to lose.

 

There was some sleeping medicine in the cupboard with some different brands of painkillers. Experience shone through as she scanned the ingredients on the packets, then combined a few of them to make a rather efficient drug which she added to the pancake mix. It would easily be strong enough to knock him out for an hour, especially given his current physical state. She was tempted to give him something that would keep him out for a day at least, but anything that strong could hurt him, so she finished up, and took the plate of hot pancakes to his workshop door, working too fast for her emotions and moral reasoning to catch up with her.


	16. TONY 2030 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why they can't have nice things...

 

When he was satisfied that the tower was aptly secure, he powered off his computer and curled up in his chair, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his head on them. He was exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, and especially physically. He was tempted to drift off to sleep for just a few moments…

 

Tony sat up straight again, pinching the soft flesh of his forearm in an attempt to stay alert. This weakness was pathetic, he’d hardly been up for 20 hours yet.

Someone knocked on the door, and he grabbed a pen and paper, to make himself look busy, rather than like he was about to fall asleep.

Natasha peered through the doorway with a half smile.

“Tony? I, uh, made pancakes… figured I’d bring you some…” She trailed off, staring at the plate almost sheepishly. He tilted his head slightly, staring at her. _What the heck._ He watched her silently for a moment. _Why would angry spider lady make food? Unless…No. Surely she was just trying to repay the favour for bringing her breakfast. She was odd like that, never liking to be in debt to anyone, even for something insignificant.._

“Why the hell did you make pancakes?” He rubbed his eyes, confused.

“I had nothing better to do, and the only other dishes I can make are Russian,” she walked toward him, placing the dish on the desk in front of him. “Besides… you’d been - well - nice. I figured you might like them…”

He watched her carefully, incredulous. She wouldn’t poison him, she wasn’t that daft. If she killed him she’d be stuck in a building full of cameras and wind up back in the holding cell with an arrow sticking out of her knee. So maybe she really was being nice. Did she feel like she owed him kindness? Did she feel guilty? Tony wasn’t sure, but he knew that she wasn’t used to any one trusting her, and he didn’t want to ruin that. Yet he was still unsure… something about her seemed off. But he knew he would never be able to let his guard down and stop checking every doorway he passed for lurking fires if he didn’t start trusting someone.

“You don’t do nice things.” He stated, trying to place her motives. She shrugged.

“I owe you a debt. Pancakes don’t even begin to cover it, but it’s a start.”

Was it possible? Hmm. Tony knew better than to upset her again when they were finally tolerating each other, and he hadn’t eaten in ages… those pancakes sure did look good.

“Thank you,” he said softly, picking up a fork and taking a tentative bite. When he didn’t crash the the floor in a seizure, he smiled slightly, and took another bite. She was actually not bad at cooking. He chewed contently on the pancakes, his stomach grumbling as he ate for the first time in days. His head was spinning slightly, likely from overworking.

“You’re welcome,” she said with a faint smile, backing out of the door and disappearing down the corridor.

His drowsiness continued to increase at an alarming rate. _Shit_. He shouldn’t have trusted her. He wanted to though. He wanted so much to finally have someone he could trust, to be close to someone without the constant fear of them turning everything against him. Maybe Tony was just not meant to have anyone.

He stood on shaky legs, and called out.

“JARV-” the floor rushed to meet him and he crashed to the ground. 

 


	17. NATASHA 2055 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat be bad.  
> make Tony sad.

 

She left the door of his workshop slightly ajar, in case it locked behind her, and waited in the corridor, counting the seconds as they passed. _He will be out cold soon, the fool. Should have known better than to trust me._ She moved back toward the door silently, her breathing steady and focused. Natasha heard his shout and winced a little, a slight bit of guilt slipping into her mind. Entering the room again, she saw Stark collapsed on the floor. She hesitated for a moment, before heaving him up and laying him on the couch. She then sat in front of the computer and began working.

 

The first level of encryption was fairly easy, but after that there were more security codes and layers and layers of combinations. _Der'mo_ , this was a lot more work than she’d expected, even from someone as paranoid as Tony. She was going to have to move a lot faster if she wanted to be out before he woke up.

She was smart, but this security was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and time drew on. Her hands moved faster as she desperately attacked the last few lines of defence.

The hour was almost up. She cursed in Russian, glancing over at the body on the couch every so often. He could wake up at any moment, and she’d be screwed. She sighed in relief as the final wall went down, the computer now entirely unlocked. Typing in a few lines of code, she opened her own security privileges and restrictions, unlocking all the doors. Her work done, she closed the tabs and stood up.

 

* * *

 

“Shit,” there was a groan from behind her, “the hell was in those pancakes, you sly bitch?”

Her eyes widened as she froze for a moment, before breaking into a sprint, not bothering to look back as Tony struggled to get up from the couch. He stumbled to his feet behind her, holding his head in his hands.

“JARVIS, lock the tower down, now!” He called out from the other end of the corridor. She was nearing the door when she heard him, realising she should have disabled JARVIS. The light above the fire exit was still green as she approached, but it locked moments before she ran into it, colliding with the metal door with a thump.

_No, no, no, no, no, no…_

“Romanov!” Tony growled as he approached behind her.

She was banging her fists on the door, muttering strings of curses, flitting between English and Russian. _So close._   _So fucking close_. _Should have used a double dose, that would’ve solved the problem. Damned mechanic._

She was tempted to run from him, but she knew she would still be stuck in this tower, so what point was there. He stopped a few meters away from her and she slowly turned to face him, anger, disappointment and betrayal clouding his features. She huffed, giving up, and sliding to the floor. She didn’t want to look at him, but her eyes flicked up to see his face as he tried to from a coherent sentence. She immediately regretted it. The expression on his face made her feel even worse, so she glared at the floor instead.

He sighed in exasperation, running a hand through his hair.

“Ouch.” Was all he said. Was he referring to his headache or bruises as side effects of the drug… or his damaged trust? She didn’t want to know. Probably both. She sighed quietly.

“It was a careful mixture of sleeping medicine and painkillers,” she said, replying to his earlier question, unmoving. “Fast acting, but not long lasting. No damage to the body.”

“My bruises will disagree with you there,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

“Sorry,” she murmured. She could feel his cold stare burning into her and she closed her eyes.

“No, don’t apologise,” he spat, bitterly, “I should have know better than to ever trust anyone.” He said darkly, before turning and stalking away. She looked up to watch him leave.

 _Well shit._ She’d expected him to lose any slight trust he had for her, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. His harsh tone sent a shudder down her spine and she swallowed. She had really fucked it this time. She tried telling herself that she’d warned him not to trust her, that he hadn’t listened to her when she said she was dangerous, and that it was a part of who she was. It didn’t help. She knew it was no excuse to have broken his trust. She didn’t think anyone could trust her after finding out about her past, and yet the first time someone did, it took less than three hours for her to ruin it.

 

 

 


	18. TONY 2200 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony takes his feelings out on the wall.

When Tony got back to his lab, he slammed the door behind him and turned to punch the wall. He was still drowsy, so didn’t register any feeling in his hand.

He glared at his fist, confused for a moment - _pain receptors seemed to be malfunctioning_ \- so he punched the wall again. And again. And again. And again, still with no sensation in the reddening knuckles.

After about ten punches, his nerves seemed to remember what they were meant to do, and all the pain shot through his arm at once. He cussed loudly, holding his hand against his chest. He knew it would be sore for a few days, but he could deal with it. Pepper would be upset if she saw his hand, so he made a mental note to ensure that didn't happen. He flexed and stretched his fingers a few times, testing the injury.

He was tempted to inform Fury of what had happened, and get Natasha locked up in glass again, but his headache was worsening and he really wasn’t in the mood for talking, so he just sat down in his lab and let himself become lost in his mind.

 

Tony cursed his swelling knuckles, then cursed the pancakes, and grabbed the fork and plate from the bench, hurling them at the wall, cursing Natasha. Cursing himself. The plate shattered and the pieces crashed to the floor, but the sound could not drown out his agonised yelling. He kicked a bookshelf over, sending books and prized possessions tumbling to the ground in a broken heap. He picked random objects off his desk, spinning around, hurling them at each of the walls. Every time his bleeding fist curled around a potential projectile, his knuckles burned as the delicate skin was stretched against the recent abrasions. When everything within his reach had been redistributed across the room, he fell to his knees, defeated.

 

Broken shards poked at his legs but he hardly noticed. He was vaguely aware of blood trickling down his hand, but he paid no attention to his physical state. His wellbeing was the last thing on his mind. He glared down at his shaking hands, as he rambled with anger and fear and something else that he couldn’t quite define. Time seemed to go painfully slowly. He had no control. Why had he thought he could trust someone else, when he could hardly trust himself. Maybe this was all his fault. _Maybe everything was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but I'm going to be posting a lot more regularly from now on :)
> 
> Hope you readers are all enjoying the story,  
> as always please point out any errors and feel free to comment :)


	19. NATASHA 2200 FRIDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat doesn't feel bad for what she did. Not even slightly. Not even a teensy tiny- okay yeah Nat feels bad.

 

The tower was locked, putting her back to square one, and now she didn’t even have anyone to talk to. She chewed on her lip, yet again she’d caused her own problems, but now it was affecting other people as well. If she’d not failed in Russia the first time, none of this would’ve happened to begin with. In fact, she couldn’t understand why Stark wouldn’t just let her go, now especially. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

Even as she tidied up the kitchen, and hurried past his workshop door silently. Even as she lay on her bed thinking over it. It didn’t make sense. She was fairly certain he didn’t like her, knowing what she’d done. He definitely didn’t trust her, she’d gone and made bloody sure of that. He knew she was a danger to him, and had the worst set of morals in the whole tower… so why wouldn’t he let her leave for gods sake. He’d already said he didn’t have loyalty to Fury. Maybe it was out of spite, angry at her for betraying his trust.

She was currently on the floor above him, but the deafening silence was easily broken by his shouts and the crashes below. He was going to hurt himself. More than she had already hurt him. She didn’t even try to muffle the noise, just stared at the ceiling, listening to the damage she had caused. The sharp bursts of sound broke through her walls.

 

* * *

 

The noise didn’t seem to stop for an agonisingly long time, until it went silent and suddenly as it had started. It was too silent, something was off. It probably wasn’t a good idea, but then again, she’d been full of bad ideas lately, so she may as well just do it. Natasha stood, and tentatively made her way down to his lab, pausing outside the door in her uncertainty.

Not hearing any further noise, she sighed, quietly entering. Her footsteps weren’t silent like normal, not wanting to seem as though she was a threat. The sight of him on the floor made her feel even worse about what she had done.

She didn’t say anything, keeping a distance between them as she gently lifted the fallen bookshelf, and gathered up the broken pieces and books from the floor. The air was so tense it was suffocating, but she continued, quietly placing items back on the shelves. Broken bits of glass and ceramic were scattered around him. She knelt down, still not looking at him, and picked the shards up, then stood to put it all in the bin. When she’d tidied up the majority of the mess, she took a first aid kit off the wall. Hesitantly, she set it down on the floor in front of him. She straightened up again wordlessly, and left, hoping he wouldn’t do anything else that might hurt him.

 


	20. TONY 0018 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has an anxiety attack and tries to distract himself with maths and physics and stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okie dokie, writing anxiety attacks is hard, but not as hard as pulling yourself out of one so here goes. I acknowledge that the punctuation and grammar in this chapter is awful, but that was a stylistic choice in attempt to convey the atmosphere... I don't even know, don't hate me.
> 
> any feedback on this chapter would be especially appreciated xx

 

Tony was vaguely aware of someone entering the room at one point. Moving around to fix the mess he had made, before placing a med box in front of him and leaving without a word. He hadn’t looked up once. Hadn’t said anything. It sounded like Romanov’s footsteps though. He wondered if she had come to help out of guilt, or just to manipulate his trust so he would be easier to exploit again later. He didn’t want to know.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been kneeling on the floor before he eventually stood on weary legs. He ignored the medical kit in front of him and went to strap into the nearest Iron Man suit. As the cool metal engulfed him and closed him off completely from the world, he felt a sense of home and security that not even his lab brought him anymore.

"Sir, you aren't wearing the adequate undergarment for the suit. Might I request you don the undersuit on your desk to prevent skin tears and blistering." JARVIS's metallic voice echoed without a reply as Tony stepped out onto the balcony, watching the night sky through his animated visor. He stepped up onto the parapet, pausing for a moment before allowing himself to topple over the side and shoot toward the ground.

His gut clenched and his fists automatically balled into fists as he fell, the air rushing noiselessly past him. He felt like if he fell fast enough he could leave his thoughts behind. He turned the rockets in his hands and feet on at the very last moment, slowing to land with a slight thud on the pavement. He glanced back up at the tower once before starting to walk. alloy clad feet clinked against the worn pavement as he mindlessly headed in a random direction, not really paying attention to where he was going. He just walked. Walked until his legs went numb. And then he powered up the rockets again so he could get further away without having to use his feet.

 

* * *

 

He ended up landing on the roof of an abandoned building in a quiet area of the city. He sat down unceremoniously, and tipped onto his back, allowing the visor to flip open. The air was cold against his face, helping him stay awake as he glared up at the stars.

“JARVIS… why is everyone I ever meet such a damn prick?” He grumbled to the only friend he seemed to still have.

“Incorrect, sir. I do believe you would never view Pepper, Rhodey or Doctor Banner as _‘pricks’_. Therefore only 99.7% of those you know are so called _‘pricks’_.” The automated voice replied from inside his headpiece.

“Okay, JARVIS, I think you can write yourself in as one of those pricks,” he grumbled, pulling his helmet off completely and tossing it to the side, wincing slightly as it crashed across the asphalt, knowing it would leave scratches. But the silence was welcoming. He'd been cooped up in the tower for too long. His body ached and his head was spinning.  _Focus, Tony._   _Get a hold on yourself._

 

Tony knew he was going to end up overthinking everything if he didn’t find a distraction, but tonight he couldn’t care less. Any other night he would desperately cling to any project or idea or anything to occupy his mind, but he had been bottling this up for too long, and if there was anything he was good at, it was emptying bottles. He allowed every buried thought to flood his mind at once and didn’t even try to remain calm as questions and memories flew about in his head.

How many time had his life been screwed over because he trusted the wrong people?

How many times had other people been hurt because he blindly placed his trust in those who didn’t deserve it? His whole company had been selling weapons on the black market and he was blissfully unaware because he was to god damn trusting and too lazy to look into it.

How many lives could have been spared if he hand’t been so ruthless with his own?

 

He felt his pulse quickening and his ears started ringing as the panic rose. _Maybe all of this was my fault, somehow._ He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs weren’t working and the air was thick and his heart was beating in his ears and he felt dizzy even though he was lying down so he tried to sit up but his muscles wouldn’t obey him but he managed to struggle to his feet, panic throwing off his balance, he tried to just breathe, but he couldn’t get any air into his lungs and _just breathe_ but he still couldn't do it and  _why can't i breathe_  and he was getting dizzier and it was getting darker and he felt himself stumble…

 

Tony fell back to the floor, grunting, and detached the suit, letting it fall to pieces around him. He shivered against the cold, the stars spinning in the sky above him as he tried again and again to drag some air into his lungs but the night scraped against his throat and he gasped, pain throbbing through each of his veins. _Lungs failing?_ _Has the arc reactor stopped working?_ _Was the shrapnel finally piercing his heart?_ That would explain the ache in his chest that had slowly intensified over the past few days. He didn’t even know where he was. Anything could happen to him up here and would anyone ever know? How long would it be until someone got JARVIS to track his suit and find his cold body sprawled on the roof? _No no, don’t think like that Stark. Just breathe, just breathe. When did I forget how to breathe!?_

He begun listing familiar facts and figures in a desperate attempt to calm himself down.

He rolled onto his stomach,

_[hydrogen-helium-lithium-beryllium-boron]_  

resting his forehead against the rough cement

_[carbon-nitrogen-oxygen-fluorine-neon-sodium-magnesium-aluminium-silicon]_  

and screwed his eyes shut 

_[phosphorus-sulfur-chlorine-argon-potassium-calcium]_

and finally managed to suck in a breath 

_[scandium-titanium-vanadium-chromium-manganese-iron-cobalt-nickel-copper-zinc]_  

and it burned through his lungs 

_[gallium-geranium-arsenic-selenium-bromine-krypton]_  

as his pulse started to slow to a normal rate 

_[rubidium-strontium-yttrium-zirconium-niobium-molybdenum-technetium]_  

He had no energy left to put on his suit so he just stood wearily 

_[ruthenium-rhodium-palladium-silver-cadmuim-indium-tinantimon-ytellurium-iodine-xenon-cesium-barium-lanthanum-cerium-praseodymium]_  

and went over to sit at the edge of the building 

_[neodymuim-promethium-samarium-europium-gadolinium-terebium-dyrosium-holmuim-erbium-thulium]_  

letting his feet dangle over the edge 

_[ytterbium-lutetium-hafnium-tantalum-tungsten-rhenium-osmium-iridium-platinum-gold-mercury]_  

tapping his shoes together rhythmically 

_[thallium-lead-bismuth-polonium-astatine-radon-actinium-thorium-protactinium-uranium]_  

as he inspected the scabs forming on his knuckles 

_[neptunium-plutonium-americium-curium-berkelium-californium]_

and he swallowed down a scream because he couldn't find his voice

_[einsteinium-fermium-mendelevium-nobelium-lawrencium-rutherfordium-dubnium]_

and he wondered vaguely if Pepper was looking for him  

_[seaborgium-bohrium-hassium-meitnerium]_

but figured she probably wasn't because

[ _fuck thats all the elements there are, time for mathematical sequences]_  

 she had more important things to worry about and

_[1,6,15,28,45,66,91,120,153,190,123]*_

if she was worried about him, he would only feel worse

_[1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89]**_

and he already caused enough problems as it was

_[three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine three two three eight four six two six four three three eight two seven nine five zero_ _]***_   

and even the numbers weren't working to distract him, so he pressed his hands against the sides of his head, willing his mind to just  _shut up_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hexagonal numbers  
> **the fibonacci series  
> ***first 30 decimal places of pi


	21. NATASHA 0100 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohana means family, and family means not letting people care about you even when you care about them....

 

Back in her room alone, Natasha could not rid her mind of the image of Tony curled up on the floor. She’d gone to clean up after her own mess, after all - she had been the cause of his state - but seeing him like that… she’d broken an already broken man. There had been a time when The Black Widow took pleasure in breaking people, physically, psychologically, but this just filled her with even more self-loathing. The silence was better than hearing him tear everything around him apart, she only hoped that now he wasn’t tearing himself up too. She wasn’t going to go back down and check though. It would be a _really_ bad idea, especially given the way he had totally ignored her presence as though he wasn’t even aware another person was in the room. Maybe it was better like this. He was probably safer the further away from her he was.

qTrust wasn’t in her nature, she was trained to remember everyone as a threat. But Tony wasn’t the most trusting person either…so the fact that he even slightly trusted her at one stage made her betrayal so much harsher. She wondered if it would affect him permanently. The feeling of helplessness burnt inside her and she hated it. She was helpless to fix the damage she’d cause, helpless to leave so she couldn’t cause any more problems, and helpless to take out her self directed frustration in a more physical way, like training in the gym until she collapsed.

 

Leaving the room meant a chance of bumping into Tony again, so she remained where she was. She had no idea what the time was, she knew she should probably be sleeping, but if Tony was going be to a dickhead and not take care of himself then so was she. Besides, it wasn’t like she was tired - Natasha Romanov did _not_ get tired.

Moping and sulking did no good, so she began wracking her brain for another method to leave the tower, preferably without having to go near Tony or the lab, because that would only end badly. She had come to realise that Tony’s design for the tower was annoyingly brilliant and there was in fact no way to get out whatsoever when one was locked in. The man was unfortunately bright, every damn thing was covered. Why then, if he was so clever, did he decided to trust her regardless of everything he’d read? Sure, he could be arrogant, but that was just stupid. She groaned, shaking her head. He’d taken the pancakes because she’d allowed him to trust her. Once again, the fault came back to her.

She seemed to be the only source of her problems, even the Red Room programming was her fault, she could have let them kill her but instead she killed other people. Running away from problems didn’t change the blame or make it better. But then, what would? It’s not as though she could just apologise for betraying his trust and drugging him…she was beginning to think she’d finally landed in an entirely unfixable mess. Definitely. Totally. Entirely. Unfixable. Natasha never knew how to earn trust in the first place, but fixing broken trust was quite possibly the most impossible task she’d ever been faced with. He’d ignored her to such an extreme, not even reacting angrily. If he’d yelled at her, thrown things at her, gotten angry, or even just glared at her, she could have understood. She could have let him take it out on her and maybe they’d be a step closer to fixing it. Whatever it was.

 

She didn’t want to think about what he was doing. Natasha had known a hell of a lot of pain, but the effect of his disappointed, hurt anger was something she’d never felt before. She closed her eyes in the silence, sighing. She had fucked up big time. She only hoped that her actions didn’t screw Stark any further than his trust for her. Highly unlikely, she realised with a scowl to herself, well done, Romanov.

“JARVIS?” She spoke out hesitantly, unsure of whether the AI would even talk to her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. “Is Tony okay?” Yes, she was letting compassion and guilt get the better of her, but at least it would calm her worries to know that he hadn’t collapsed or something. It had gotten eerily quiet in the workshop.

“Mr Stark is currently having a panic attack on the top of a building.” JARVIS replied, and she swore she could almost hear the resigned sigh in his automated voice, but that would have been impossible. “You’re fucking joking…” she muttered, getting up quickly, “Shit, shit, shit.” She ducked out of the door way and begun heading down the stairs before cursing. “Shit! I’m not allowed out of this fucking stupid tower! JARVIS, you have to let me out!”

“Ms Romanov, under orders of Director Fury, your access rights have been limited to-”

“Shut up! Fine. You just have to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself,” she snapped. He’d be fine, he’d been through this before, he knew what to do, right? It wasn’t that simple, and she knew it.

“Unfortunately, it would seem Mr Stark is purposefully avoiding my interface. I cannot contact him. However I can still track his vitals, and will take necessary measures if his safety is at immediate risk.”

Natasha ran to his lab, wondering if it would be a good idea or a bad idea to hack his system again. Was it a good idea or a bad idea to go and find him? She couldn’t tell whether it would make the situation better or much worse, and the indecision and uncertainty was driving her insane. _Fuck it_. She was going to go make sure he was okay. To her surprise, he hadn’t locked the computer again after her last break in. _He must be really messed over if he forgot something as vital as that…_ Hacking her security privileges again was easy this time, so she checked the locations on each of the suits, and noted the one which had vastly different co-ordinates, memorising the location. She paused for a moment, thinking. She pulled a thumb drive from her pocket and plugged it into the computer.

“JARVIS… will you let me leave the tower?” She called out casually, typing in a few more lines of text, her forefinger hovering over the ENTER key.

“Ms Romanov, if you leave the tower I would be obliged to inform Director Fury and Agent Barton. As they are your-“

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” Natasha said, pressing the enter button and allowing the virus to enter the computer, disabling JARVIS. _No way I’m letting Barton come after me._ She glanced around the room quickly, feeling slightly bad for shutting off JARVIS, before hurrying down to the garage to find her motorbike.

* * *

 

The only way up to the roof ( _without a bloody flying suit_ ) was the fire escape. Natasha sized up the jump, took a few quick steps, and used the wall to push herself up high enough to latch onto the lowest platform. She pulled herself easily up and began hurrying up the stairs, cursing as they creaked. When she got to the top, she peered over the edge to see Tony sitting on the parapet on the opposite side, staring down at the road below. He didn’t look good, but she didn’t want to startle him or make him panic again, especially when he was sitting so close to the edge. Conflict raged inside her for a moment before she finally pushed herself up onto the roof.

“Tony…” She began softly, “are you okay?”

“CHRIST!” He nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around to see where the voice had come from. He gripped the edge of the concrete, staring toward her. “When the… how did you get out of the tower? What the hell are you doing here?”

She winced, raising her hands in a surrendering fashion. “Tony, calm down. I hacked your computer again… sorry. JARVIS told me you were having a panic attack…”

“No fucking wonder,” he hissed, pushing himself to his feet and stomping over to the scattered pieces of his suit. “I’m fine, Romanov. Its none of your business.” He slammed his shoe down onto one of the footplates, and the suit started to attach from his legs upwards. She ran a hand through her hair, checking him for injuries or any visual tells. He seemed fine, upset and startled, but otherwise fine. Which gave her the opportunity to escape… without having to worry about his safety any more, she could easily run off to Russia and he probably wouldn’t be able to stop her. But guilt and a feeling she couldn’t quite place rose up at the mere thought. Her voice was quiet as she replied, sighing, as she turned back to the stairwell.

“I’ll see you back at the tower, Tony.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeeek. let me know what you think :)
> 
> also I'm updating daily now, because its almost all finished and typed up, so why not speed up the suffering?


	22. TONY 0300 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes to find birdboy.

 

Without a word, Tony put his suit back on and fired up the rockets, heading back to the tower. He hated that he’d had an panic attack on the roof of a some random building. He hated even more that Natasha had seen him like that. _Why the hell had she even come? Can’t she leave me alone for once?_

“JARVIS… We’re gonna need to rewrite the security…again.” Tony landed at the tower and pulled off his helmet before he could hear if there was a response. He stomped inside, taking off the rest of the suit bit by bit and leaving the pieces trailed across the floor toward his desk. He sat at the computer and scrolled through the user log to figure out how Romanov had infiltrated the system so easily.

“Sneaky little fox.” He murmured under his breath with slight admiration. He grabbed the probe again and set it on top of the computer screen, so that it stared right down at the seat. He scribbled an angry face over the smiley, and stuck a sticky note below it readying ‘ _don’t even think about it, spider’_ and set a little surprise for her behind it. He then trawled through each of the computers firewalls and security measures, defending them specifically against the methods Romanov was best at. Once he was finished, he left his workshop and decided to find Clint, figuring he might appreciate being kept in the loop about what had been going on. Tony stopped at the door, realising that he had no idea where to start looking, other than ‘up’.

* * *

 

When Tony passed the gym, he heard the whirr of arrows, so pushed open the door and stepped inside. He wasn’t surprised that the other man hadn’t been sleeping, they both had bad habits for staying up late overthinking. He walked around against the outside wall until he came into Clint’s line of vision, where he stood, waiting until the man was ready to talk with him. Clint flicked his eyes over to Tony, before he slung his bow over his back, and reached up to switch his hearing aids back on. He walked over to the target to collect his arrows (all of which hit the bullseye, of course), avoiding making eye contact with Tony. He looked annoyed. More than annoyed. But at least he had turned his aids on. That was good for two reasons. 1- it meant he was willing to talk, or at least to listen, and 2- Tony was rubbish at signing. He sighed, unsure of where to begin.

“Stark, what’s up?” Clint asked warily, pulling his arrows out of the target.

“Natasha drugged me with pancakes.” _No point wasting time, just admit you screwed up, Tony._

“She’ out of the cell!?” Clint’s eyes widened in anger and fear. “She ran off to Russia without telling anyone, not even her partner! She deserves to be locked up for another week at least! No, no, no… Tony _please_ tell me she didn’t get you to let her out.”

“No! It wasn’t me. And umm… she also managed to leave the tower… she hacked through all of the security in under an hour and came to find me when I was blocks away…” he grumbled sheepishly.

“She left?! Well done, Stark. She’s probably long gone now.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Wait, why’d she come find you? I didn’t know you’d left, where were you?”

“Don’t blame me, hawk-guy! I didn’t let her loose. And she’s back now anyways, she didn’t run off for some reason. Maybe she does have feelings. But just… be aware that she’s able to hack her way out.” He retorted.

“She’s back? Are you kidding me, I don’t understand why, she had a perfect opportunity. Of course she can hack her way out, she’s smarter than she lets on.” Clint watched him with an odd expression, placing his arrows back in the quiver then turning to face Tony dead on. He crossed his arms, waiting for a reply to the second part of his question.

“Erm. Well…” _Get a grip, just admit it._ “I may or may not have been having an anxiety attack on the roof of a building a few hours ago. So um, when she found out from JARVIS she came looking for me to make sure I didn’t… get hurt.”

“Wow, and here I thought she didn’t like you. Are you okay now though?” Clint spoke carefully.

“Yes! Fine!” Tony growled, waving his hands dismissively. “I’m not sure what she’s thinking either but I’m sure as hell not gonna ask her myself. Clint watched him warily, narrowing his eyes.

“Okay… I feel like either I’ve missed something, or you’re definitely overreacting about being drugged. Did something happen between you two?What aren’t you telling me?”

“She’s mean, that’s what.” Tony sulked, crossing his arms. “She keeps spying on me and telling me how to live my life and it pissed me off so I read her files which pissed her off and she went all silent angry which was kind of terrifying and then she poisoned me!” Tony spat everything out in a hurried sentence before turning away and frowning at the wall. Clint was silent for a few moments.

“Well. Damn. Posing is a bit of a strong word though, Stark. If she wanted you dead you’d be in the ground already. Of course though, you’ve read her files, so you’d know she could kill you in several different ways with her bare hands. That probably wasn’t a good idea but he way. Maybe you should just go talk to her about all this, its getting confusing.

“She drugged me to knock me out and hack my computer. I’m not going near her.” Tony hissed.

“Woah, okay then, don’t. My bad. Why’d you come find me then?”

“I don’t know!” Tony whined, exasperated. “I guess I thought you deserved to know.”

“Stark, if you think I’m going to go talk to her, you must be out of your mind. I’m her partner, I was the one who got her _out_ of Russia, and she shouldn’t have even _thought_ about going back in there, let along going alone without even telling me.” Clint’s voice was controlled, but Tony could see the effort it was taking him to stay placid.

“What? No, of course not. I just thought you’d appreciate being informed that an angry Romanov was loose in the tower making knock out pancakes.” He sighed. “This is a mess.

“Yep. Sure is. Still, I can’t believe you actually took the pancakes. From what you’ve said, you’d literally just gotten pissed off at each other, you’d just learnt the true extent of what she’s capable of, then she turns up with pancakes? Why’d you take em?”

“I kinda got the feeling that if i didn’t eat the pancakes she was gonna eat me…” Tony stated flatly.

“Yeah, okay, true. Have you locked down your computer properly now? I mean she might try to take a chance again…”

“Yes, definitely, and set up a probe to watch it so I will be alerted if anyone else uses it.” He hummed, still perplexed as to why she had come back to the tower after breaking out.

“Good, I don’t want her jetting off to Russia again. Honesty, she’s going to get herself killed, and what’s worse is she knows it. Are you certain she came back? Didn’t just trick the system or something… I mean she’d be capable of it.”

“Her bike was in the garage… but I haven’t seen her face since I got back.” He said slowly, concern dripping into his voice. _She had come back right? She said she would…_

“You’re supposed to be a fucking genius, Stark! She was desperate enough to drug you, did you really thing she’d just walk back in here?” Clint growled, pinching the bridge of his nose agitatedly.

“Well lets go and have a bloody look for her then, hey? You’ve got good eyes, use them!” He spat back defensively. It was hard to be a genius when you hadn’t slept except for sixty minutes in a pancake coma. Clint was glaring at him. No surprise there.

“Fine. I’ll check your lab, you check her room.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely obsessed with Clint Barton and I have no shame at all. Gonna be posting twice daily when I don't have university, and once daily when I do :)


	23. NATASHA 0300 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tashie goes home yay :3

 

Natasha climbed down the stairwell again, pausing to stand by her bike as she watched the city around her. She relished in her momentary freedom before making her way back to the tower. Parking her bike, she reluctantly entered the building with a sigh. She didn’t know why she’d chosen to come back, she easily could have disappeared to Russia. She had never been one to act out of guilt or regret… except tonight.

She sighed, hearing the noise of metal boots hitting the balcony far above her. Job done. She returned to her room. Stupid, stupid Stark, who knew all about her stupid, stupid past, was once again going to lock her in this stupid, stupid tower. That’s a hell of a lot of stupid. Almost more in one sentence than Barton has in one day.

 

Now she wished that maybe she’d invested a little more time into making her room more… interesting. She’d never needed to make it _hers,_ as she rarely spent any time in there, but now she was stuck in these four walls for the foreseeable future. Digging a pencil out from a drawer, she figured she’d have to find something to do to relieve her of her boredom. 

* * *

There was a slight knock at the door, but she was in no mood to answer. Maybe if she ignored them they would just go away. It didn’t. The door swung open, to reveal a surprised Tony Stark.

“Why the hell did you come back?” He asked incredulously.

She looked up, irritated. She didn’t want to answer him, and didn’t even know the answer herself. “Why the hell are you in my room?”

“Clint thought you’d given us the slip again.” He stated simply, scanning the page she was drawing on.

“I said I’d see you back here.” She muttered, following his gaze to the sheet of paper she was holding against the wall. Why were there no desks in here anyways? She continued to darken the swirl she’d been sketching, a shape beginning to form across the page.

“You’re making no sense lately.” He said with a sigh before disappearing out of the doorway.

“I know. And I don’t like it.” She said lowly, more so to herself, as she watched him leave. She fell onto her back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

 

 


	24. CLINT 0518 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life lessons with Barton 
> 
> (gets a bit deep, sorry if i drop you into an existential crisis...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY a chapter from Birb Boy *heart eyes*

 

With an aggravated sigh, Clint jogged down toward Tony’s lab. He hadn’t ever really been inside, Tony was kinda territorial. However he had often peeked through the airvents when the odd man hadn’t been seen for a few days, just to check he was still ticking. The door was slightly ajar, but no sound was coming from inside. He pushed the door open the rest of the way, stepping inside.

“Tasha?” He called warily, hands forming loose fists as he scanned the area. It was a mess. Bent and broken pieces of metal and glass were shoved hastily under desks and shelves. Empty bottles and mugs littering almost every surface. Tony’s computer was untouched, recognisable parts of the iron man suit trailing across the floor toward the balcony.

“Natasha?” He said again, digging his fingernails into his palm. “Dammit!” He checked under the benches and behind the filing cabinet and even checked the air vents but there was no trace of her.

He tried to put her out of his mind, but he couldn’t help cursing her, and Stark. How many times had he risked his life to save their asses, and they go and fight each other. Sometimes he wished he’d just shot her when he was supposed to, and stayed a sniper instead of joining Fury’s powerpuff girl squad. No, that wasn’t true. He was glad he had spared her, talked his way out of a hell of a load of trouble, and managed to get her into a semi functioning state as a team player. Almost. It was a working process, and they would get there some day… if she didn’t get herself killed first. He looked up quickly when Tony stepped through the door.

“You couldn’t find her either, could you?” He scowled at him viciously.Yeah, he was pissed at Nat, but he hated the thought of her alone and dying in Russia. “She’s gone.”

“Calm down, feather boy.” The other man said calmly, rolling his eyes. “She’s sulking in her room, it’s okay.”

He seemed to be telling the truth… but that hardly made sense. “Why would she be back in her room?”

“I have no idea. And it’s bugging me.” Tony sat behind his desk, spinning the chair to face him again. “She’s drawing, Barton. Drawing! Maybe she ate some of the pancakes too…”

“She always draws when she needs to think. Or to distract her self. I’m surprised she didn’t hit you, she doesn’t like people knowing that she draws. It makes her seem ‘weak’ or something.” He rolled his eyes, thinking back to when he first caught her drawing.

“What? I draw. Doesn’t make me weak! Well I mean.. technically it’s sketching…”

“No, you _design_. Theres a difference. Well, according to her anyways. She told me once when she was drunk.” He sighed, sitting on the edge of a workbench.

“She can get drunk? I thought only humans did that… hmmm.” Tony thought for a moment, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly.

“Once, in a hotel after a mission, with two bullets lodged in her shoulder - the anaesthetic wouldn’t work.” He recalled. “Look, I know you guys got pissed at each other, I’m pissed at her too, but that’s just bitchy. She’s as much a human as you or I… she’s just not great with the whole ‘people’ side of it.”

“She’s bloody complicated,” Tony sighed, needlessly straightening items on the bench top. “I just don’t know what to think.”

“So you’d prefer to sit around and mope?” He watched him. “Thats about as useful as moving things around your desk.”

Tony stopped, his hand hovering still over the tabletop. He slammed his fist down, sending pens and tools scattering. He took a deep breath, and started straightening them all again.

Clint flinched. He realised he was probably one wrong word away from getting his ass kicked. He waited a moment before speaking out. “Tony, I know you’re angry but… why are you taking this so personally? Normally stuff like this just rolls off your back.”

“Because, feathers, I’ve been doing some thinking - no surprises there - and it seems to me as though people only ever get close to me in order to manipulate my trust for their own damned benefit.” He seethed, slowly placing things back on his desk.

“No, it’s more than that, Tony. I mean, since everyone else has manipulated your trust, and you’d literally just read her file… out of everyone you’ve trusted, she’s the one person you logically would have most expected it from, so why are you pissed? Or are you just mad at yourself for letting it happen?”

The other man clenched his teeth, and turned back to face him with something between a growl and a sigh. Defeat washed across his face. “Mad would be an understatement.”

Clint nodded a little. He hadn’t expected that answer. But at least he wasn’t getting to pissed at him. “It’s not your fault… well okay, so maybe a little bit for not thinking it through… but you shouldn’t blame yourself.” Clint could tell he wasn’t listening to him. Tony’s gaze was fixed on his swollen hand, which he was slowly clenching into a fist.

“Stark?” Clint stepped toward him carefully. “Tony, you okay?” Clint took another step forward when Tony didn’t reply. He noticed that the mans hands were shaking slightly, and his eyes were narrowed. He just hoped he wasn’t about to get hit.

“Tony? C’mon, man.” He tried to meet his eyes. He could see him infront of him, but it was almost as though Tony wasn’t there. He was deep inside his own mind, wrapped in anger and hurt, hardly present in the room anymore. Clint sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, listen, Tony… talk to me.”

Tony’s head snapped to look at him, as though he had only just noticed his presence in the room. A strange expression crossed his face. “What do you want me to say?”

That stumped Clint. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear. But at least he hadn’t been punched in the face. Hesitating, he spoke.

“Tell me why you think this is your fault.” Clint said lowly. Seeing Tony like this was beginning to worry him. Tony stood, brushing Clint’s hand from his shoulder, staring so intensely into his eyes it almost felt like he was looking _through_ him.

“When a family friend orchestrated the death of my parents, and attempted to arrange my own death, I promised myself I would never trust anyone again. Never let myself become vulnerable to the point where anyone could take advantage of me. How am I supposed to trust anyone when I can’t even trust myself?” His voice was low, paced. His words almost sounded  _rehearsed._

Clint could tell there was a deeper problem here, and even though he wasn’t particularly close to Tony, Clint knew he should at least try to do something about it. Besides, seeing Tony this broken up didn’t make him feel very safe. “So, you can’t trust yourself not to make bad decisions to trust people? Okay, start from why you chose to trust people and we’ll work from there.”

“I wanted to be able to trust people.” Tony’s shoulder slumped slightly. “It’s exhausting, Clint. Constantly checking over my shoulder, second guessing every move, overthinking every conversation for days afterwards. I can’t stand it.”

“Trusting people isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s just the people you choose to trust… I still don’t understand your reasoning behind trusting Tasha. Maybe its just _what_ you trust people with. I mean, I don’t trust _anyone_ with my bow, not even Natasha.”

“I can’t have grey areas like that. Either I trust someone or I don’t, theres nothing partial about it. I dunno. I hardly understand it either.”

Clint groaned, running a hand through his hair. Why did he think even for a second that something relating to Tony Stark would possibly be easy. “Fine. Okay then. The only thing that really matters, when it all comes down to it, is your life. So, grab a sheet of paper, and list everyone you know. Or at least, everyone who’s in your life often enough to have an impact.”

“Do people in nightmares count?” Tony asked bitterly, pulling a notebook from a drawer and grabbing a pen.

“Just a list of people who have the capability to hurt you.” Clint frowned, watching as Tony started scratching down names, noticing with a sigh that Tony’s own name was the very first.

“Okay… is that it?” Clint read the list over his shoulder. _Anthony Stark. Pepper Potts. Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Clint Barton. James Rhodes. Fury. Thor._

“Haha. No.” Tony scoffed, adding another heap of names to the list, including _Steve’s creepy boyfriend who doesn’t talk,’_ and finishing the list with _Bruce Banner._ “I trust Banner though. Completely. Well, maybe not so much when he’s green.”

“Right, okay. Now imagine each person on the list is handed a gun. Would they feel more comfortable holding it facing you or themselves. If they’d rather point it at you, don’t trust them. It’s as simple as that.”

“What about the first name?” Tony asked, chewing his lip as he worked through the list from the bottom up. “And what about that Bucky guy, Steve’s always trying to get the guns pointed _away_ from his head. And Banner knows better than to put another bullet in himself. The big guy is more dangerous than a gun, and he’d shoot me before letting him loose on me. Does Thor even know how to use a gun? I’m beginning to dislike the exercise.” Tony placed the pen down with a frown.

Clint resisted the urge to hit him. He growled irritably, turning and walking over to the other side of the room, then walking back. “No, Tony, you’re not grasping the point of the question. God, you’re supposed to be intelligent! Fine, scrap the situation, ignore it, just answer me this: out of the list of people, who would rather put their own life at risk than yours. Simply due to if they value your life above or equally to their own. In our line of work, thats what matters, Stark.”

 

Tony picked the pen up again, tapping it angrily against the paper.

“Well that’s where the problem arises, see most people on this list value my life more than _I_ do, but that doesn’t mean they’d risk their own life for the sake of mine.”

“Oh for fucks sake, Stark, you know what I meant. Let me rephrase,” Clint was tempted to add ‘yet again,’ but resisted the urge. “Which people on that list would risk their life for you even if it wasn’t 100% necessary. If you were in a fight, and they weren’t sure if you would dodge in time, who would take the hit… just in case?”

“Do you really think anyone would?” Tony asked quietly, he even sounded surprised. “Wouldn’t it be instinctive to move out of the way of a bullet?”

Clint met his eyes with a sad, slightly confused look, replying just as quietly. “You really don’t get trust, do you? You’re worse than Natasha.” He sighed. “Fine, down the side of the page, mark off anyone that you would do it for.”

Tony answered with a ‘ _hmpf_ ’ before marking off around a third of the names.Clint resisted the urge to look at the list, stepping backwards slightly as he saw Tony marking off a lot more names than he had expected. “Tell me why you’d take a bullet for them.”

“Because they’re decent people who deserve to live.” Tony stated bluntly, as though it were obvious.

“So, are you trying to tell me that not a single person on that whole list thinks you’re a decent person who deserves to live too?” Clint asked, and Tony stared at him oddly.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Work through it mathematically. It’s a simple deal of priority. Some are more easily replaced than others. It’s not just a case of who deserves to live, its who deserves to live _more_. A simple pecking order, survival of the fittest, et cetera…” Tony trailed off. Clint’s face had dropped at the word ‘ _mathematically’_ and his frown continued to deepen as Tony talked. He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at him until he found his voice and broke the silence that had settled in the room.

“No, Tony. God, is it so hard to grasp a concept that isn’t based on logic, but gut instinct and emotion? Even Natasha has emotions. She hates them but they’re there. So you must have some too… somewhere.”

“It’s more than logic, it’s common sense! There’s only one friendly Asguardian on the planet. One overly virtuous super soldier with a moral overload. Don’t you see? They aren’t replaceable, we lose them and then what do we do? It’s easy to find another egotistical guy to fill a suit, but good luck getting your hands on another Bruce Banner or Steve Rogers!”

“No, Tony! God, trying to explain this to you is just like trying to explain it to Natasha. I don’t understand why you two don’t get on better… I feel like I’m talking to a bloody brick wall.” He grumbled frustratedly. “You’re not thinking about this right, trust is to do with emotion and instinct and caring and sacrifice, not numbers and maths and replaceability.”

“But you can calculate emotion and instinct and caring by using maths and numbers! Sacrifice has everything to do with replaceability! You’d only sacrifice yourself for something you couldn’t live without, something you could never replace!” Tony was getting just as frustrated, with Clint dragging emotion into the conversation, as if it was any basis for decision making.

Clint huffed, clenching his jaw and trying to figure a better way to communicate. _Don’t hit Tony don’t hit Tony don’t_ _hit Tony…_

“Maybe I started this wrong. Fine, screw life, ignore everything about death, it’s not working. Trust is about caring and caring is about happiness. And sure, you might both survive without the last pop tart, but who would you want to have it more? Okay, so you could buy more, and I know you would use that excuse, but the point I’m trying to make is that you should trust people that would sacrifice their happiness for yours. Because they care about you - if they’re doing it for any other reason, don’t bother.”

“…pop tarts?” Tony repeated blankly.

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed. Of everything he said, the only thing Tony picked up was the god damn pop tarts. To his surprise however, the other man begun going through the list again, with an intense look of concentration on his face. Tony’s eyes flicked up and down the page of names, and Clint wondered whether he’d finally managed to actually get his message across.

“I think I may have made some progress with your silly game.” Tony grumbled, placing the pen down.

“It’s not a game,” Clint said quietly, pouting. “But good. Have you found people you can trust yet?”

“Potentially.”

“So are you going to stop moping about your trust issues now? Or at least stop being so pissed off at yourself for making a mistake?” Clint folded his arms.

“What? No. Of course not,” Tony rolled his eyes, “That would be silly and progressive.”

“You’re impossible. I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” Clint muttered, “I always hope you are, but you’re normally not.”

“Of course I’m not being sarcastic,” Tony replied sarcastically, with a slight smirk.

“You’re so annoying. Is it that hard to give someone a straight answer, ever?” Clint rubbed his face exasperatedly, yet smiled a little, glad that Tony was at least feeling better enough to start pissing people off again.

“Come on, Hawkie. How long have you known me now? You know I overcomplicate everything and make things way harder than they have to be.”

“It’s Hawk _eye_ , geez, Stark. And I have a name, anyways.” Clint pouted. “Yes, unfortunately I do know you, and if I didn’t, the last hour or so has most definitely taught me that you really do like to make things difficult.”

“Alright, Hawk _guy_ , so now what? Unless you got any pop tarts tucked under your wings, I think we’re done here…”

“You’re not gonna shut up about that pop tart thing, are you?” Clint rolled his eyes. “But nah, I’m off, I wanna finish my archery. I’ll see you around.”

“Okay feather-boy,” Tony paused before quickly adding, “Thanks for the chat.”

“Woah, did I just get a thank you from Tony Stark?” Clint’s eyes widened as he grinned. “What happened to the real Tony, and who the hell are you?” He smirked, turning toward the door. “Until next time, Iron Idiot.”

Tony tossed the pen at the back of Clint’s head as he walked away, scowling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooaaaah that was a long one. ouch my heart.


	25. NATASHA 0645 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If at first you don't succeed, punch a wall, then try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i meant to hit save instead of post but whatever, you get this one early :)

 

Natasha had been staring at the ceiling for quite some time, that paper she had been sketching on was crumpled up and discarded on the floor. She’d come to a conclusion as to why she had come back… and she hated it. She’d actually realised it about half an hour ago, and then spent the next thirty minutes trying to convince herself of any other possible reason - aside from that look on Stark’s face on the roof of the building, which made her realise she _really_ didn’t want to upset him,or any of the team, ever again. Despite her own desperate desire to run off back to Russia where no one would know any of her history, and where anyone who did would deserve an assassination, she had chosen to stay. She huffed, sitting up and getting onto the bed, which was slightly more comfortable. Pulling out a standard issue notebook from the basic side table, and tore out another piece of paper, beginning to write a list of people who knew about her past.

 

She ended up with a list of eight people, of whom she was certain were still alive. (Not including of course, a large portion of the population who had access to limited intel when SHEILD went public). Her list consisted of three people from the Red Room, one from the KGB, Clint, Hill, Fury, and now Tony of course. She put an asterix on the left of Clint, Hill and Fury. She trusted them enough. Clint, because how could she not. If he’d wanted her dead, he had his chance years ago, and many times since. Fury and Hill she trusted because she knew they needed her, at least for the time being. The four Russians had small X’s next to their names, but the margin by Stark’s name remained unmarked entirely. She didn’t want to trust him, he knew too much. Besides, after betraying his trust, he would be more likely to betray hers out of mere spite. Unlikely, yes, but still a possibility she couldn’t rule out. Still.. he hadn’t shot her her when he found out… although he still wouldn’t let her go. No, that only meant he needed to keep an eye on her, just like Fury. Trust was a risk and a liability she couldn’t afford. Screwing up the sheet in her fist, she threw it across the room, missing the bin, and landing in a ball next to her scrunched up drawing. She realised Stark had probably seen her drawing, great, another thing he knew about her. She frowned, wondering what the odd guy was up to. She didn’t move for a few minutes, refusing to sate the curiosity and concern growing in her mind. Regardless, eventually she gave in and pushed herself off the bed, deciding to just walk past the workshop and make sure he wasn’t tossing things around again. Now that she wasn’t confined to one room, she may as well take advantage of it, but hopefully manage to avoid coming into contact with anyone.

 

She took the stairs, not overly fond of feeling trapped in an elevator, even if it was only for a few minutes. Arriving at his floor, she looked around warily before quietly making her way down the corridor, hoping to be able to get a glimpse through the door as she went past. She paused, scowling at herself as she debated whether she was being ridiculous. _Yes, of course you are. But seeing as it was your fault he was so worked up, you should at make sure he’s alright._ Pushing the thought away, she took a silent breath before moving past the open door. She could see Tony sitting at his desk, staring at piece of paper taped to the wall. He didn’t seem to be in a great mood, but he wasn’t gasping for breath or throwing things at walls, so she figured he was okay. She quickened her pace, hurrying to the stairwell and heading back upstairs, unnoticed.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she sat down. For such a big tower, she felt awfully confined. _That’s the point of house arrest, durak*._ Her mind flicked back to the idea of escape, but she found her options were back to the original ones: all entered around Tony and his fucking lab. He was pissed at her, she knew that, so asking nicely wouldn’t work. And threats didn’t seem to have much effect on him either, unfortunately. She didn’t want to consider why. He didn’t trust her, so promises would be futile. And he was’t one to do things out of the goodness of his heart. Rubbing her face frustratedly, she sighed. _Seems like there’s only one way to get through to him._ She headed back to the lab.

 

Slipping through the door, she noted that the lab was empty. Frowning in confusion, her eyes landed on the computer on his desk. The probe was sitting on top of the monitor, with a sticky note attached. Walking over to read it, she rolled her eyes. _I’m not scared of empty threats, Stark, especially when they’re written on yellow paper._ She turned the screen on and began typing. He’d made it much harder than last time. _Note to self: Geniuses are good at encryption._ She felt a teeny bit guilty about doing this to him yet again, but forced the thought into the steel box at the back of her mind. She was going to get out of this tower, or die trying. Doing things by half was not in her nature.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *durak [Дурак] - fool


	26. TONY 0730 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries another 'trust exercise' and it doesn't go so great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in one day! Wow aren't you lucky. I'll tell you who isn't lucky though... Tony Stark.

 

Tony wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t want to go talk to Natasha, or anyone else in the tower, but he knew he’d only get worked up again if he went back to spending time in the workshop on his own. He went back to the workshop anyways - as he always seemed to do - and started figuring out a formula to measure trustworthiness. He drew up a table of qualities in people he knew, each scoring from -10 to +5. He went through each of the names on his list, calculating a score for each of them based on things such as;

  * potential motives,
  * how long he had known them,
  * their history of loyalty/betrayal,
  * how important he viewed them as a team member
  * and how important they likely viewed him.



 

It was simple enough, anyone who scored zero or a negative value would be deemed untrustworthy.

His formula worked perfectly, of course, and perfectly reinstated what he knew already: never trust anyone.

He tore the piece of paper out of his book and stuck it on the wall as a reminder. Trust was dangerous. He had to avoid it.

* * *

 

He was beginning to become suspicious of Barton. He’d always been reserved and quiet toward Tony, but today he seemed to randomly get a lot closer and far more personal. Maybe he was planing something. _Maybe he’s in on it with Romanov - a team effort. After all… they are partners._ The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Natasha weakened him up, Clint swooped in while he was vulnerable and acts as a friend, establishing a false sense of security. All of a sudden he’s in a lot deeper than before and there’s no one left to turn to. He wondered what they were possibly trying to get out of him. There were no major secrets he kept from them. It wasn’t like he’d made a major breakthrough with his research, or designed something amazing and not told them. Unless Fury had set them up for whatever reason… The names were piling up against him, how had he ever trusted any of them?

 

Once again, a nagging thought in the back of his mind accused him of being paranoid. He ignored it. This wasn’t paranoia. Paranoia was a lot worse, he sure knew that. He sat very still, thinking quickly. Was there anyone left that he could trust? Who else was working against him? Steve? Banner? Rhodey?

Surely not Pepper, it caused him physical pain to even consider that. Steve, Clint and Fury would be easy enough to avoid. Banner was nowhere to be found. Thor was out of the picture, busy with sibling rivalry. Rhodey hadn’t spoken to him in a while… so he was safe for the time being. He didn’t bother thinking about Natasha. Pepper, however… he considered calling her, or setting off the fire alarm so she would come rushing down to check on him. No, that was ridiculous. He would go find her. Not to talk to her, just to see her. Seeing her doing something completely normal and pepperpottsy would help him remember why he trusted her.

Surely.

 

Hopefully.

 

He stood on weary legs and decided to go find her. Once again, he realised he had no idea where to start. He didn’t find Pepper, she always found him. Thats just how it worked. Did she have her own room? What floor did she spend time on? Which office did she use most? He started mindlessly shuffling through corridors and hallways. Eventually, he spotted a tuft of that gorgeous strawberry hair poking over the back of a sofa, and slight smile graced his lips. He took a step into the room, and was going to say something when a long beep from his pocket interrupted him. Someone was at his computer. _Again, Romanov? Really?_ _Ugh._ He hurried back to his lab, stopping in the door way to watch her silently, disappointment mixing with anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has the worst timing aw.
> 
> This MIGHT be the half way point. I've estimated it to be around 50 chapters, but I'm adding and changing stuff all over the place so it could end up even longer x__x


	27. NATASHA 0900 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fight fight fight fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE HAVE SOME ANGST

Natasha could feel a pair of eyes on her, and knew it could only be one person. She kept typing with one hand, eyes locked on the screen, as she peeled the sticky note off and waved it toward Tony, speaking in a flat tone.

“Did you really think a post-it note was gonna put me off?”

“That’s not a just post-it note, widow.” His bland voice replied, and she dropped the paper, glancing toward the small mechanism it had been obscuring. The probe spat a puff of smoke into her face and she gasped in surprise, taking a large amount of the gas in with her first breathe, managing to cover her eyes a split second too late. She stood quickly and tried to move away, coughing as her vision blurred.

“How’s it feel, Romanov? Being stepped on by those you thought were better than that? Being cheated. Beaten at your own game.” His malicious voice was approaching behind her, and she turned to the sound of it, trying to blink her vision back into focus. Her eyes were stinging and she coughed harder.

“Fuck you, Stark,” she spat out between wheezes, as she stumbled backwards into a chair.

“Buy me dinner first, sweetheart. Not pancakes this time.”

“Go to hell,” she muttered as her eyes began to clear. “Just let me go already, you asshole.”

He pushed past her and she heard him typing at the computer. “No.”

“Last warning, Stark. Let. Me. Leave.” She clenched her fists, glaring through stinging eyes.

“Or what?” he snarled, spinning to face her as the computer locked down behind him. “You’ll hurt me? Aww boo-hoo, see if I care! If I let you go, Barton, Fury and the rest of the team will rip into me with just as much force as you could. It’s not going to happen.”

She lunged forward, tackling him and pinning him to the ground, a knee to his chest, and her forearms pinning his hands down.

“Oh please, you don’t care about the teams opinions, and frankly - they don’t care if I’m here or not, they just feel bad for admitting it. If they knew as much on me as you did, I doubt I’d last longer than a week here. I am dangerous, Stark, and if you don’t let me go you will sorely regret it.”

“Funny how _you’re_ asking _me_ to let you go, yet _you’re_ the one holding _me_ down…” he sighed, not attempting to fight her. She shot him a deadly glare, remaining in her position, her knee pushing harder into his chest.

“You’re not going to try anything. You’re not going to lock me up, or lock this room down, or try any other sneaky bastard move to stop me, or believe me when I say that there is _nowhere you can hide_.”

“God, you’re stubborn,” he yawned nonchalantly. _He’s trying to hide that he’s scared. He knows he is powerless against me, his only defence is to piss me off._ She glared at him, gripping his wrists tighter, fairly certain she was already bruising them.

“You know what I’ve done. You know what I’m capable of. I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you were simply a witness in my way, but you have something I need, so start acting sharp, or I will no longer have a use for you!” She met his eyes.

“You would’t kill me,” he replied levelly, almost like a challenge. If only he knew how wrong he was. She shifted to hold his wrists with one hand, just as tightly, and grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him up so their faces were inches apart.

“You don’t believe that for a second.” She murmured dangerously, slamming him back against the ground.

“Ouch,” he grumbled, “can you imagine the rumours that would fly if someone came in and found us like this? It’s slightly compromising, I must admit.” He let out a shaky, shallow breath. She ignored him.

“Will you get me out of here, or are you of no use to me?” She snapped viciously. He stayed very still, and she could almost see him willing himself to move, but he met her eyes calmly.

“I’m of no use to you.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, leaning up slightly. She froze too, staring at him for a long moment, expression guarded. Her hand tightened its grip as her knee pressed harder, feeling his ribs and knowing that any more pressure could crack them.

“Stark, are you sure about that?” She asked lowly, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s me, Natasha. My ego is too large to allow room for uncertainty.” He hissed through clenched teeth.

Her knee was beginning to ache, the hard metal of his damn arc reactor digging in uncomfortably, yet it wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the decision she was left with.

“Why won’t you fucking let me leave, you son of a bitch?” She was stalling, and she knew it.

“Because, there’s a feeble little organ just behind this here arc reactor, and it’s not very healthy. And it sometimes makes me make bad decisions due to rubbish like emotion and compassion.” He slurred out. He was blinking rapidly. Maybe she should let him breathe again… _Nah._

“Then get a grip, and start making the right decisions. I am a dangerous, ruthless and heartless assassin. Not a soldier, but a spy. Not an avenger, but a weapon. And you are a fucking genius, so start acting like one and think this through, or I _will_ kill you.”

“Do it then, if you’re so sure!” He yelled. “See if that makes you feel better about the past. Add some more red to your ledger.”

She clenched her jaw, her whole body almost statue like apart for her shoulders, rising and falling with every heavy breath. Wordlessly, she held him in place, but didn’t make a move.

“If you were really the monster you see yourself as, I would be dead,” he started slowly, “You’re a human being, Natasha, not a weapon.”

“Shut up,” she muttered bitterly, losing her calm. “Shut up, shut up, shut up Stark! Don’t pretend to know anything about me. I don’t kill people, that’s your naivety talking - _I destroy people,_ don’t you understand?”

“Well you can’t destroy me - I’ve beaten you to that. So you either kill me, or you walk out of here,” he yelled back, “and you better be bloody quick about it, before someone comes to see what all this yelling is about!”

“I would walk out of here if you’d just unlock the god damn door! You are in no position to give me an ultimatum, you’re the one on the floor here!”

“And you’re the one trapped in a tower like a damsel in distress. Sorry, princess, but I’m not feeling overly threatened, seeing how there’s not really anything you can take from me that I wouldn’t miss.”

“Fine,” she seethed. She was not giving him the satisfaction of her giving up. She flipped them over, so she was on the ground below him. Releasing the pressure from his ribs, she grabbed his wrist and held his fingers against her head, where the nerves met just behind the ear. “Either you let me out of this tower, or you kill me. A few seconds on that pressure spot ought to do it.”

Tony grunted in surprise, catching his breath. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“I’ve cheated death long enough, Stark. Countless people want me dead. If you don’t do, I will. So kill me, or unlock the damn door!”

He smirked slightly, tugging his fingers away from her pressure point, but still keeping his weight over her. “You’re in no position to give me an ultimatum,” he repeated smugly, “you’re the one on the floor.”

She scowled, dropping her head back to the floor with an exasperated frown, redirecting her glare at the wall. “Is this out of spite? Because I drugged you when you stupidly trusted me, even though I told you not to?”

“Possibly,” he grumbled, “but thats not the point here. You’re more of a danger to yourself then you are to me, so you’re staying here. I’m not going to kill you, and letting you out of here is killing you as much as this would be.” He released her, sitting back.

“I’m a danger to everyone around me,” she frowned, furiously, “I’m unreliable and untrustworthy, you of all people should know that. I don’t need protection, and as you said ‘punishment doesn’t work on me.”

“You had your chance, you broke out. But you put your own motives aside to come and find me, so don’t pretend you don’t have the capacity to care.” He pointed out. He was chipping away at her walls and he hated it.

“If breaking your trust once isn’t enough to make you let me leave, who else do I have to lethally threaten before you give in?” She retorted dryly, looking back toward him.

Tony went silent, watching her quietly with an odd look. _Gotcha._ She raised an eyebrow, allowing more of the harsh Black Widow persona to slip out and cover the tracks of the far weaker Natasha. She smirked, and empty, blank look.

“So that’s how to push your buttons, huh?” She taunted.

He dug his elbow into the wound on her stomach. “Don’t you dare touch her,” he breathed, eyes narrowing. Natasha attempted to keep the surprise off her face, and bit back the hiss of pain, forcing another smirk onto her lips. Maybe she could get what she wanted without even leaving the room…

“ _Her?_ I’m going to assume you’re talking about the lovely Miss Potts? Interesting. But surely you know that keeping me around is a danger to her.” Lying was so much easier when it was the truth.

“She’s done nothing to you, leave her out of this!” He pressed his elbow down harder, leaning in toward her.

Natasha pushed a cruel laugh out of her throat, reminding herself that she needed to play his weaknesses to get what she wanted. It did nothing to ease the guilt. Pepper had always been nice to her, and the idea of hurting her was awful. But if she could use it to manipulate Tony… she didn’t have to follow through with any threats.

“Open the front door to the tower, and you and Pepper will never see me again.” She managed to keep her voice steady, even though her abdomen was screaming in pain.

“You’re not going to touch her.” He reached behind her, allowing more weight to sink through his elbow.

She closed her eyes for a split second, which was her downfall. Opening them again just in time to see the filling cabinet crashing down toward her and Tony rolled out of the way, before she everything went black with a painful  _thud._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (:


	28. CLINT 1045 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the last few days, Clint's life has been a constant state of 'disappointed, but not surprised.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love AirVent Clint, because I myself also love small crawl spaces and hiding from my responsibilities. I'm trying to take on an interesting approach to writing it however, which will become apparent in the next visit Clint pays to the air vents.

 

 

Clint liked travelling through air vents. They were perfect for getting around unseen, and also for avoiding people. The only other person in the tower who dared try and follow him in here was Natasha, and she would be avoiding him anyways, so he knew he had the metal maze all to himself.

His hands slid easily over the cool floor of the vents as he shimmied along silently, pausing briefly at the occasional vent to see if anything interesting was happening in the room below. The four walls of the vents were familiar, and when he was in here, in the echoing silence, detached from the outside world, he felt at peace. He could leave his frustration and emotion at the vent when he climbed in, and enjoy hours of solace, climbing through the metal work.

He reached the end of a pathway, and braced his hands against the walls to slow his fall as he dropped vertically to the floor below him, landing quietly, he got back onto all fours and continued onward, through the dark chamber. The metal vibrated beneath him and he paused, reaching up to switch his hearing aids back on.

He recognised Tony’s loud voice and flinched slightly when he heard a loud crash. He wasn’t unused to those sorts of noises down in this area of the vents, above Tony’s lab. He rolled his eyes, continuing until he found somewhere he could drop down from. He landed at the base of the stairwell, letting his eyes adjust to the light for a moment before beginning to walk toward the sound.

“Barton?” Tony’s weary voice carried down the hallway. “I need you to help me move a body…” _Well shit, Stark._

Clint hurried into the room, taking in the scene with a quick glance. The first thing he noticed was a filing cabinet, tipped across the floor, and a mess of red hair showing underneath it.  _Aww, Tasha, no._

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think this is…” he snarled humourlessly, kneeling down beside his partner to check her injuries.

“Hey, she literally wanted me to kill her, all I did was knock her out.” Tony’s replied defensively. Clint moved to carefully lift the filing cabinet away from her, groaning.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” He winced slightly when he saw the bruises already beginning to form on her skin.

“Uhhh… lemme summarise.” Tony paused for a moment, thinking. “She tried to hack my computer, the probe gassed her, I shut off the computer, she tackled me the ground and threatened to kill me. I was like ‘k whatever,’ so she threatened to hurt Pepper and I was like ’nuh uh,’ so I dropped a filing cabinet on her head.” Tony let out a long breath, facing him warily.

“Shit. She’s impossible.” He muttered, carefully lifting her shoulders. “Grab her feet, what are we doing with her?”

“Back to the cell. She can sit in the naughty corner and think about what she’s done.” Tony grumbled as he took her ankles and lifted her.

Clint nodded, backing out of the door, careful not to further injure her. “Man, you two really don’t do things by halves, do you? You’re lucky she needed you to open the doors, or you would have had no chance.”

“I told her I wouldn’t open them, but she refused to kill me. I don’t understand her.” Tony sighed. Clint just rolled his eyes not even trying to understand either of their thought processes.

They reached the cell, which was still littered with broken pieces of wood, and placed her down against the wall.

“No chair this time, spider.” Tony kicked some of the wood out of the cell into the corridor. “I’m tempted to get her a straightjacket.”

“Don’t bother. It takes longer to get her into one than it does for her to escape one and kill two men.” Unfortunately, Clint was speaking from experience. Fortunately, they had been on the same side.

“Lately she’s more of a danger to herself to any of us, though. Of course I’m glad she’s not in Russia, but it’s still making me uneasy.”

“She’s always been more of a danger to herself, Tony. It makes me so mad,” Clint muttered, clenching his fist as he sighed. “But you don’t actually believe that she’d lay a hand on anyone in the tower, do you?” He turned to face Tony, who was giving him the most annoying stare.

“She nearly killed me 20 minutes ago. Does this look like an empty threat to you?” He said, holding up his wrists which were covered in painful looking blue and purple bruises. _Dammit, Nat._

“If she didn’t mind hurting you, she would have broken one wrist so that you could still type with the other. You got off lightly.”

Tony dropped his arms, pouting. “Only because I knocked her out! Even if she wasn’t going to kill me, she certainly wanted to.”

“Well you don’t exactly make yourself easy to like…” Clint sighed, managed to get a knowing smirk from Tony in return. He stepped out of the cell, and waited for the other man to follow before shutting and locking the door behind them.

“Well, thanks for… helping. And not getting angry at me.” Tony mumbled, heading for the door. Clint gave him a curt nod, and hesitated for a second before taking a seat on the crate near the glass.

“Thanks for not killing her, Tony. You go. I might keep an eye on her for a while.”

“No problem, feathers.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, any comments are greatly appreciated.  
> I hope everyone is enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying posting it!


	29. TONY 1150 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper makes everything better. (ignoring canon from AOU onwards because lets be real, Joss killed all the ships)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly love Pepper's character so much, so I was so disappointed that she's not been in any of the movies lately. But at the same time... I can see why she needed a break...

 

He found Pepper still seated on the couch, a thick wad of documents in her hands, with loose pieces of paper scattered around her as she worked in silence. Just seeing her, normal, safe, made Tony feel a hell of a lot better. He knew his voice would betray him if he tried to say anything, so he just approached silently. He sat beside her and gently rested his head on her shoulder, shutting his eyes. He was exhausted, and everything was aching. But with her familiar scent and warmth, he could finally relax. He heard her setting the papers down on the coffee table.

“Tony? Are you okay?” she asked softly, “You’re not usually this quiet. What’s up?”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” Tony mumbled, more so to reassure himself. He felt her shifting beside him, and her slim fingers wrapped around his hand.

“Of course we’re okay, Tony. What’s the matter, did something happen? You’re kinda freaking me out here…” she sighed. He gripped her hand, thankful he was wearing a long sleeved jumper. The last thing he needed was for her to see the bruises and get even more worried.

“It’s fine now. I’m fine, Pep.”

“Tony…” she murmured, nudging him lightly with her shoulder, “you’d tell me if there was something on your mind, right?”

He couldn’t reply. He couldn't stand lying to her. It was easier to say nothing at all. All he wanted was for her to be safe, from him too.

“Tony? What aren’t you telling me?” He could hear the frown in her voice, as she lifted his chin to meet his eyes. He blinked a few times before focussing on a freckle by the side of her nose, rather than trying to maintain eye contact.

“It’s nothing, love.” he gave her one of his ‘press smiles’ that he had practised for years. She chewed on her lip for a moment, and he knew she recognised that smile, but eventually she returned it.

“Promise me you’ll talk about it later?”

“I pinky swear.” Tony held out his pinky, and she chuckled, linking it with her own.

“Thank you.” She smiled again slightly, before gently pecking his lips, and he so wanted to save the moments like these forever. Keep them in safe in a glass cabinet, out of reach, with his other delicate memories. He wanted to hold her tightly, while he could, and not let go, because in his line of work he never knew when he would be saying goodbye for the last time.

She gave him a knowing look, as if she could tell exactly what he was thinking about, and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here with you Tony.” He could feel his hands beginning to tremble as he tightened his grip on the material of her shirt, holding her close. She was still talking to him, something about breathing, but her words were drowned out by the humming of his brain. His mind was battling between his earlier thoughts of whether he could even trust Pepper, and remembering that malicious glint in Natasha’s eye when she realised what his weak spot was. For both of their sakes, Tony should isolate himself from her. From everyone. It’s what his mind told him was the right thing to do. But it didn’t _feel_ like the right thing. This, here, felt right. _But how can it be, when it puts her in danger?_

“Tony, come on, look at me. It’s alright, just breathe.” Her voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he focussed on the freckle by her nose agin.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Pep.” He chewed his bottom lip, watching as she furrowed her eyebrows.

“I won’t get hurt, Tony. I have powerful friends, I live in a secure tower with a bunch of superheroes, I can fight. And, most importantly, I have you. I’ll be fine, Tony, honestly. It’s you we have to worry about.”

“There’s people in this tower who can hurt you.” He tilted his head. _Why worry about me? No. Pepper is whats important here._ “What? Don’t worry about me, Pep. I’m fine.” _I’m always fine._

“You’re not acting fine, Tony. And yes, I’m fully aware that people in this tower have to capacity to hurt me, but I’m also more than certain that they wouldn’t ever come close to trying. What’s causing all this? Did something happen?”

“I just… don’t know who I can trust. There’s always something happening,” he picked at the scabs forming on the back of his knuckles, “and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Do you trust me?” Her voice was quiet, as she gently tugged his hands apart and took them in her own.

“I want to,” he sighed, “I’m trying to.”

“Well I trust you, Tony. I trust you not to hurt anyone you don’t have to. And I trust you to try your hardest to make sure no one in the tower gets hurt.” _Well you shouldn’t trust me, Pepper. No one should._

“Thank you.” His mind was screaming at him to get away from her, so she could be safe. But her hand on his made it a little quieter in his head, and that was a blessing for him that would never lose it’s magic.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she smiled, “just take care of yourself for me, okay?”

“What would I ever do without you?” He smiled back slightly, avoiding her question. _I can’t even think about anything without her. I can’t let that happen._

“I don’t think you could even tie your shoes without me. You could save the world, and invent a new type of oxygen, but you’d need one of your bots to tie your shoes.”

“Pepper. Oxygen is a pure element, the only ‘types’ there are, are the different ions. And you don’t ‘invent’ those, you discover them. But they’ve all been discovered already.” He furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Exactly,” she rolled her eyes, “you manage the impossible.” she chuckled, before regarding him with a more serious face. “Yet you still refuse to take care of yourself.”

He felt his shoulders tense, and willed himself to relax. She was right, of course. But he couldn’t stand to see her upset, especially when he was the problem. “I’m fine, Pepper, I’m doing fine.”

“Dammit, Tony, I know you aren’t.” She met his eyes with a sigh. “You don’t want to think about it - fine. You don’t want to talk about it - fine. Don’t want to trust me with it - fine. But don’t lie to me, Tony, don’t you dare lie to me about it.”

Her words cut into him, the sudden change of tone almost made him flinch. How much lately had he been thinking about trust and betrayal, yet here he was, lying to the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, turning his face away slightly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” _Sorry you have to deal with me._

“It’s okay, just please stop shutting me out.” Her hand closed loosely around his wrist, and he instinctively tugged his arm away quickly. _Too quickly, dammit. Think of an explanation, don’t let her see the bruises._ She stilled beside him, narrowing her eyes, and he knew what was coming.

“Tony?” she was using That Voice. The scary mother voice that she reserved for when she found a singed shirt in the bin from when his clothes caught fire in the lab, or when he didn’t eat for days because he was busy working.

“Yes, dear?” he dragged his hand across his face, knowing he wouldn’t enjoy what was to come.

“What happened to your arm?” She spoke calmly, angling her face so he had to meet her eyes.

“It’s nothi-” he bit his tongue, and looking down at his shoes. _Don’t lie to her._ “It’s just a bruise.”

“Will you let me see?” She was already tugging at his sleeve, staring at him with one of those ‘ _I’m-not-gonna-ask-again’_ looks. He sighed, pulling his arms away and rolling his sleeves up. _Ohh, those sure ain’t pretty._ He glared at the dark markings on his skin, which had gotten far worse than he’d anticipated.

“Who did this?” Pepper was surprisingly calm. “Why didn’t you tell me? What the hell happened?”

“Romanov happened. Just before I came to find you. I hadn’t really had a chance to talk to you about it…”

“We’ve been talking for twenty minutes, Tony, you didn’t think to mention it?” He could hear the anger seeping into her voice, and hoped it wasn’t directed at him. “Why did she do it? Where is she now?”

“We had a little fight. She’s back in the cell now.”

“A _little_ fight?” Her fingertips traced lightly over the bruising. Her shoulders dropped and she pulled him into another hug. _That could have gone a lot worse._

“I’ve had plenty worse, it’ll be fine.” He hated the upset look on her face, so diverted his gaze again.

“Not the point. What the hell did she think she was doing?”

“She’s been nagging me for days to let her out of the tower, but I wouldn’t. Threats didn’t work, so she got physical. Which also didn’t work. But when she dragged you into it…” he clenched his fists, taking a calming breath before continuing. “That’s why I’m scared for you, Pepper. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. I can’t deal with that kind of guilt again, not after-”

“Hey, it’s alright Tony. I’ll be fine as long as you’re fine. I can’t believe she had the nerve…”

“I guess I should tell you that she also drugged me with pancakes…” He breathed the sentence out quickly before he could change his mind about being honest with her.

“She did what?!” Pepper drummed her perfectly manicured nails against the arm of the couch, her frown deepening. “That resourceful little bitch. Have you missed anything else out that I should mention when I report this to Fury?

“Agh, do you really need to be so proper about it? Fury is gonna be furious. More than furious. We’ll have to find another name for him. Um, well… she hacked my computer and left the tower… she came back, so it’s okay. But the point is she got past JARVIS and all the firewalls…”

“I hate spies.” Pepper sighed eventually.

"So do I."


	30. NATASHA 1400 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to have a 'heart to heart' discussion when you're trying to convince the world you're heartless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sending an internet hug to anyone who gets the Sherlock reference in this chapter :)

 

The first thing Natasha realised was that head was absolutely killing her. Throbbing pain burned through her skull and slowly she remembered the events leading up to her being knocked out. _Oh crap, and I’m back in the cell. Der’mo._ She sat up, trying to withhold her rage at the situation, her body aching as she looked around. Her eyes settled on a familiar figure perched on the crate just outside the glass wall. _Dammit, Barton._

“I see Stark doesn’t have the balls to kill someone in cold blood, how pathetic.” She snapped, sending a glare toward her partner.

“I asked him nicely not to.” Clint replied, levelly, as he watched her. _Well of course you did. Can’t you just be angry at me like any normal human being would?_

“You did what?” She whirled around, standing up with her fist clenched to stare him down through the glass. “I don’t need your help, Barton, stop trying to protect me! Let me guess - it was your idea to put me back in a fucking cell, too?”

“No,” he said calmly, as though everything was _A-o-fucking-kay._ “But I did help carry you.”

Natasha was getting incredibly pissed of at his lack of a reaction, which is probably why he was putting so much effort into staying calm.

“You’re mad. So be mad, for fucks sake. Scream at me, fight me. Tell me how much you hate me and how much you want to hit me. Tell me you regret ever bringing me back instead of shooting me. Don’t just stand there and stare at me like we’re all cool. What’s the point of being here if you’re just going to sit there!?” She slammed her hands against the glass.

“I’m not going to yell at you, Tasha. Yet.” He sighed, bringing his feet up onto the crate and crossing his legs beneath him like a pre-schooler. _If you aren’t going to yell at me, just leave. Ugh_. “I just want to talk, Tasha.”

 

She clenched her fists, sighing heavily. She could feel the waves of emotion coming off her, so she took a moment to put her mask back on and glare at him cooly. “Well I don’t want to.” But her actions spoke louder, as she sat down in front of him. Even if she didn’t want to talk, she could at least listen… _not like I have a choice._

“Of course you don’t,” he rolled his eyes. “For a while now, I’ve considered you a partner. I mean, we have been working together for a few years now. Would I be right to assume you saw me as a partner too? Not just an asset or a watchdog?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but gave a small nod in response. Angry Clint was something she had experience often - they had a habit of riling each other up. A _disappointed_ Clint, however, was nearly new to her, and it hurt a hell of a lot more.

“Okay,” he exhaled a long breath, as though he had been keeping it for days. “And teams work because the members communicate with each other, right?”

 _Why is he talking to me like I’m incompetent?_ She clenched her teeth and nodded again, knowing where this was headed, and not liking it one bit.

“So… could you do me a small favour and just explain your thought process these past few days?” His voice was cold and measured, masking whatever emotions were behind his words. “See, it was one thing how you disappeared to Russia and forget to leave me a memo. But then you got back, and made no attempt to talk to me. You got out of the cell, and saw no reason to let me know. You hacked your way out of the tower and even left for an hour or so, but still didn’t consider that maybe you could give me a little ‘hey, I’m not dead, let’s get dinner.”

“You knew I wasn’t dead. Fury would have told you that much.” She muttered, still looking past him to glare daggers into the wall. “I didn’t tell you about Russia because you _couldn’t_ come with me. I wasn’t going to come and find you after I got out of the cll because I didn’t plan on sticking around, and you would have either made me take you or chucked me right back here into this cell.” She gestured to the familiar walls with a sigh.

“It still would have been nice to see you.” He said, expressionless. “I was worried.”

“What do you want me to say, Barton? I don’t have a time machine, and even if I did, I would just use it to make sure I never fucked up so much in the first place.” She retorted, finally meeting his eyes with an equally controlled and blank face.

“I don’t need you to say anything, you’ve done your damage. I just want to make sure you know how painfully aware I was of every minute you were missing. How much trust you’ve shattered in me, in Tony. And how much disregard you have for yourself. This has got to stop, Tasha.” A bitter tone was leaking into his words, but his face was still unreadable. It took a hell of a lot of willpower to maintain her collected appearance, despite the flood of sudden feelings, dammed up behind her mask of indifference.

“You should never have trusted me in the first place,” she replied flatly, “I told you over and over, not to trust me. And disregard for myself… you say that as if everyone on the team isn’t just as messed up on that level. You make reckless decisions with no regard for your safety _all of the time_ , Clint.”

“Oh, hardly. I may not be as smart as you are, but I’m far more sensible.” He shot back with a frown.

She scoffed a little. “Don’t give me that bullshit, you make rash choices all the time in the field. You’re just too damn good at making them work out.”

“‘ _In the field.’_ I’m surprised you even differentiate, I thought everything was the same to you. Does this tower count as ‘ _the field?’_ Are you ever _not_ plotting something?” He cracked his knuckles, dropping his hands into his lap. The sound pierced the awkward silence that was forming as she stared at the ground, formulating a response.

“This tower is a prison. I am constantly analysing escape routes wether I like where I am or not, I can’t help it. Don’t pretend you don’t do it too. I know you have all of the air vents in this building memorised. Within minutes of entering a new room you’ve found at least three things you can use as a melee weapon, and four potential exits.”

“This is only a prison for those who make themselves prisoners.” He sighed, ignoring the rest of what she had said, because it was true, of course.

“You, Fury and Stark and marking me a prisoner! Here I was thinking our pal Rogers had fought for this place to be a ‘free country’ but I’m really not getting that vibe.”

“It was your actions that led us to our decisions. You can’t pin this on us, you hurt people, Natasha.”

“I know.” She scoffed quietly. “But my actions had nothing to do with it. It was my failures that ended with me dragging myself back here.”

“Well then, don’t blame yourself either. It happened. The sooner you leave it behind, the sooner you get out of the cell, Nat.” He leant back against the wall nonchalantly, as if this was all a game to him. She gritted her teeth irritably.

“Don’t tell me not to blame myself, Barton. Besides, I thought you knew me well enough to know that my remaining intent to finish a job will leave me locked in this room until I break out of the tower.”

“As long as you still think you’re going back to Russia, I have zero sympathy for the situation you’re in.” He rubbed his temple. “I’ll sit here and eat greasy pizza while you mope about in there, and not feel a shred of guilt for the situation you’ve put yourself in.”

“You can’t stop me from leaving. You going to have to let me out of this cage eventually.”

“Am I though, am I really? You’re staying in there for as long as it takes, Natasha. You’re not in charge here.”

“Why. Won’t. You. Let. Me. Go?” She narrowed her eyes, staring up at him unforgivingly. He regarded her for a second, and she could almost read the emotions that flitted through his eyes but they were masked again too quickly. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and meeting her gaze.

“Because I don’t want you back _there._ ”

“Well you should.” A deadly seriousness infiltrated her tone, and she would have said more except that he was on his feet in an instant, his faces inches away from her, separated only by the thick glass wall.

“Don’t you _dare_ try and tell me what I should and shouldn’t want in my life. I don’t want you going back there. I risked my neck and my job getting you out. I spent months trying to help you adjust, and I finally thought that maybe I had managed to do something good for once. So don’t you dare spit that back in my face.”

“I didn’t ever ask for you to do any of that,” she hissed, her indifferent expression dropping as she stood, rising to face him. “I never wanted your help. But you’re right - you did manage something good, you always do. You saved my life, in more ways than one, and on too may occasions. I will forever owe you for that and I would _never_ throw it back at you, Clint, not ever!” She snapped, her voice getting louder. She could almost hear it shaking. _Control yourself, Natalia._

 

“Oh, so you don’t count flying to Russia and taking on people from the Red Room as throwing it in my face? Because I sure do! That to me meant that you weren’t even grateful you’d gotten out of there alive!” He snarled, his tone setting her on edge. Sure, they’d argued before, but not like this.Never like this.

“You will never know how grateful I was, Barton. How grateful I am and will always be. I was replaying my debt to you as much as I possibly can, but you won’t understand that, because I can’t make you understand that I am as dangerous to you as anything we’ve faced. In fact, I’m more dangerous, because you fucking trust me, for some stupid reason, and the moment I realised that was the moment I made plans to leave.” She watched his face fall, the frustration and betrayal being replaced with sadness.

“I don’t need your protection either, Tasha. I’m not going to argue with you about this anymore.” He reached up behind his ear and switched off his hearing aids, crossing his arms definitively. _Prick._

She banged on the glass, ensuring she still had his attention, before signing:

‘(There’s nothing to argue over. You can’t change my mind.)’

She knew he probably wasn’t paying attention, but she wasn’t going to let him have the last words in this conversation. She could see his eyes on her, yet he wasn’t reading her hand movements. She shot him a scathing ‘ _this-isn’t-over-yet’_ look, as she fought to control her anger. It wouldn’t be over until she managed to convince him to let her out.

 

He sat down, cross legged, on the crate again, leaning back against the wall. She watched him carefully, but he was still damn difficult to get a read on, and she could hardly tell what he was thinking. She hated it.

Finally, he sat up slightly, giving her a long look, before signing to her:

 

> I want to help you, but you don’t want my help.

The silent treatment had lasted far shorter than she had been expecting, so she signed back straight away. 

> You have helped me. But I am still a danger to you.

He rolled his eyes at her, running a hand through his hair before replying:

> Obviously haven’t helped enough.

“Oh come on.” She groaned. Why did he always have to be so damn stubborn. She signed back:

>  I am toxic to everything around me. The closer I get to people, the quicker they die. I don’t expect you to understand, but can’t you see that I am a threat?

He narrowed his eyes as he watched her, pausing for a moment to massage his temple before responding:

>  You’re not a damn chemical, stop portraying yourself as poison.

He stood up and started pacing, shoving his hands into his pockets and gnawing at his lip as he stomped around the outside of her cell. Finally he stopped and turned back to her, his expression softening.

“Tasha.” He licked his lips, staring at a spot behind her as though searching for the words to say. He tugged his hands back out of his pockets and continued.

> You are dangerous. You are a threat. But I see you as more of a danger to yourself than to me. So I trust you, and I care about you. It’s not that complicated.

She watched his hands, reading the words and tensing up slightly. If he’d just stop trusting her then this would all be so much simpler. She sighed, thinking about how to respond. She knew what she needed to say, but she didn’t know how to say it. How to explain years of fear and conditioning in a few hand movements or simple words. No matter what she said, she knew he would never understand, but the least she could do was try.

> Turn your damn aids on… I’ll try not to get mad at you again.

She was surprised when after a moments hesitation, he switched them back on raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak.

“They brainwashed me to comply to my final assessment. I had to kill the other girls I had trained with in the Red Room. Girls I trusted. Girls who trusted me. Friends.” Her voice was painfully tight as she fought to keep her tone level. “I’m selfish as hell, and I refuse to let you trust me, because I don’t want to kill the only person I’ve really trusted since that day.” She hated talking about it, hated even thinking about it. But she couldn’t run from what she had done. She leant back against the glass and slid to the floor, avoiding looking anywhere near Clint as he processed what she had said. She didn’t want to see the look of disgust on his face when he realised what a monster she really was. She ran a hand through her hair, which was still knotted and tangled from tackling Tony. Hearing the cell door slide shut, she looked up quickly as Clint slid down the wall to sit beside her wordlessly.

“You shouldn’t be in here, Clint.” She broke the silence with a quiet murmur.

“Doesn’t matter. Neither should you, really.”

“I threatened to kill one of the team, and his girlfriend. I think thats good enough reason to be in here.” She admitted.

“I didn’t say you don’t deserve to be in here, I just mean it’s not ideal for any of us.” He sighed.

“It’s not safe for any of you if I’m not locked up. _Especially_ not you.” She replied lowly, meeting his eye.

“Don’t talk like that or I’ll turn my ears off again.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders?”

“Fine. I’d prefer it if you didn’t speak that way.” He rephrased, rolling his eyes.

“We’d all prefer a lot of things, Clint,” she huffed, and then added in a quieter tone, “but fine, I won’t.”

“Thank you.” A small smile tipped up the corner of his lips, but it disappeared quickly.

 

“How’s Stark?” She didn’t want to hear the answer. Especially after the way he frowned when she asked. _Uh oh._

“Um. Not terrible. Grumpy, obviously. He always is though. And he was pissed… and mad… and very angry yeah okay he was bad. He went to find Pepper, haven’t heard from him since…” Clint trailed off. _Great._

“ _Der’mo._ I’m going to stuck in here for another month, at least.”

“You gave him some pretty sweet bruises.” Clint changed the topic to avoid saying that she was right. _Nice try Barton, but you can’t fool me._

“The bruises weren’t the half of it. I used the ‘ _creepy-ass-rutheless-Black-Widow-thing,_ ’ as you once described it.”

“Aw no, not _the thing._ Thats merciless. He didn’t deserve that.”

“Well, at least he won't-”  ~~ _trust me anymore_~~ _._ She cut herself off, realising that finishing her sentence would only piss Barton off all over again. “-at least he didn’t kill me.” She finished lamely, knowing he would see through her obvious lie. He raised his eyebrows at her slightly, in a _really, Tasha, really?_ kind of way that made her scowl.

“He cares about you, you know?” Clint drew his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over them.

“Ugh, I know,” she muttered, looking blankly at the ceiling, “the idiot said that was why he couldn’t kill me.”

“He isn’t an idiot, Tasha, you know that. He’s just stubborn, and bad with people… not unlike someone else I know.” He smirked, sending her a sideways glance as though she wasn’t perfectly aware that he thought she was similar to Tony fucking Stark.

“Are you trying to suggest I have something in common with an _American?”_ she asked in mock horror.

“Not the point I was trying to make, but yeah I guess so.” Clint smirked, a smug smile that was so _him._

“What point were you trying to make, then?” She regarded him with a challenging tilt of her chin, watching the familiar way his eyes focus on something far away when he’s thinking.

“You aren’t so different from him, that’s all. You both like to demonise yourselves because of things that happened to you that were out of your control. You refuse to trust anyone, and are always concerned that you are detrimental to everyone around you.” He voice seemed nonchalant, but there was a tired note to it.

“There are at least four flaws in your statements. Five, actually. Stark and I may be similar, but more like how a penguin and an eagle are. Both birds, but creatures of the sea and air, respectively.”

“Whatever you say, Tasha.” He sighed.

“No, don’t just say that like you know better or something. You’re so stubborn, you refuse to see what everyone else can’t ignore. It’s like your blind or something.”

“You know I have the best eyesight out of everyone in the tower, Nat.” He stared at her blankly.

“Then why are you missing the danger right in front of you?” she sat up straighter, “Even when people warn you about it, you ignore it. Why won’t you just believe me when I say that you shouldn’t trust me?”

“Potential risks are outweighed by positive factors.” Clint remarked, as though it explained everything. “I’m done reminding you, Nat. Just accept it. You’ve had countless chances to kill me, and I’m still alive. Thats enough for me to trust you.” He leant his head back against the glass, exposing the skin of his throat. She wanted to punch him or strangle him just to prove that she could, that she would. But her limbs were heavy. She sighed again, not even raising her eyes to glare at him. After staring at the floor for a few seconds, she spoke quietly.

“What if one day I don’t have a choice?” She breathed out slowly, keeping her tone as relaxed as she could, but the low strain to it was evident. She could see Clint running his fingers through his hair, messing it up even further, as he thought about what she had said.

“What does it matter? I trust you, Tasha,” he started, tilting his head slightly to try and meet her eyes. “I trust you to make the right decisions when you can, and if you have no choice, then you’re hardly breaking my trust.”

“I’m _trying_ to make the right decisions,” she replied bitterly, scowling, “I’m trying to leave before something goes wrong. I’m trying to get myself out of the picture before your trust in me its you killed. I can’t let you die, Clint. Not on my watch.” She clenched her fist, letting her nails dig into the flesh of her palm.

“You’re not going to. There’s no need to get yourself so worked up about it, Nat, really.” His soft tone made her loosen her muscles slightly, subconsciously releasing some of the built up tension. He was too confident, she knew it would get him killed eventually. She just needed to postpone that for as long as possible.

“You think I’m overreacting.” She finally turned to meet his eyes. It was a statement, not a question. She wasn’t over reacting, of course she wasn’t.

“No more than you usually do.” He smirked slightly, a slight gleam to his eyes that was equally infuriating and beguiling. She tried to act mad, but it’s hard to stay angry at someone like Clint. She shot him a glare, but the usual harshness wasn’t in it.

“Now that’s just rude and uncalled for. I _never_ overreact to _anything._ ” She grumbled, pursing her lips. He rolled his eyes, and turned his head slightly to mask the smile that was creeping onto the corner of his mouth. She saw it though. She saw everything.

“So out of everything that’s happened to you today… you’re gonna get short with me for being rude? You’re a strange woman, but I’m not buying the whole ‘still mad at you’ thing.” He turned back to meet her eyes, the smile gone again, replaced with a challenging stare.

“You’re a superhero with a bow and arrow, you can hardly talk about ‘strange’.” She deflected easily, raising an eyebrow mockingly.

“Don’t diss my bow. You’re the one who runs around in a catsuit!” He frowned sulkily. His bow was his baby, and she knew that insulting his skill or his weapon was treading dangerous waters. If anyone else had said it, they’d be waking up with an arrow through their spleen. But Natasha knew she would get away with these things. There was no denying that he had a soft spot for her.

“It’s practical, and relatively bullet proof, what more could you want?” She smirked, “You’re just jealous that I look more badass than you.”

“Ha. You should see _me_ in tights like those. Then we’ll see who’s jealous.” He shot her an award winning smile like the smug twelve year old he was.

“Oh dear, I take it all back. Please _don’t._ That would be quite scarring.” She quipped, relieved that he didn’t seem so mad with her anymore. Hopefully he’d forgotten at least some of the various things he should be yelling at her for. She had to admit, she had missed their casual bickering. She had missed him.

 

“What are you trying to say? I look _great_ in tight leather.” He chuckled slightly, and she realised he was probably just as relieved as she was, that they were okay again. Maybe he had missed her too. _Don’t be ridiculous._

“If you dare try on one of my suits, I will take your bow and do terrible, unspeakable things to it, involving fire and sharp blades.” She warned, shooting him a dangerous, smug grin. He narrowed his eyes at her, judging her mood, before swiftly, leaning down and tugging his shoe off, tossing it at her head in jest.

“You wouldn’t dare!” He whined, as she ducked in a futile attempt to dodge the projectile. Alas, Barton knew her all too well, and he had far too perfect aim to miss. “This is war.” He whispered dramatically. She pouted as the shoe bounced from her head and hit the ground beside her. She grabbed it an tossed it back at him.

“Don’t stretch my suits, they’re expensive.” Her smirk faltered when he easily caught the shoe and threw it at her again.

“Are you calling me fat, Natasha?” He acted hurt, but she knew he was just playing along.

“I’d love to say yes, but it would be ridiculous. You’re made of nothing but muscle. I should know, you’ve squashed me with it enough times when we spar.” She poked her tongue at him as she caught his shoe, placing it on the floor beside his foot. He looked her over for a moment, a sad smile in his eyes, but a bright grin on his teeth. He was scanning her eyes as though there was something in there he was looking for. She wondered what he was thinking about. He was one of the only people she had trouble reading. The other had been Phil Coulson. The three of them knew each other so well, which was as much an honour as it was a burden. Whatever Clint had been searching for, he must have found it, because the tightness of his expression relaxed a bit, and he smiled again.

“Glad to have you back.” He said softly, a serious tone in his voice. She knew he meant more, but the words were enough. _Glad you’re safe. Glad you’re alive. Glad you don’t hate me._ He was more of a softie than Steve. She shook her head slightly, focussing on the glass wall behind him as she murmured almost inaudibly.

“I missed you, Barton.”

His eyes travelled from her own eyes to her lips a second too late, and he tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”

She blinked for a moment, realising he hadn’t heard her, and had been too distracted to read her lips. Maybe it was better he hadn’t heard. She couldn’t bring herself to repeat it. To admit it. She shook her head quickly. “Nothing, don’t worry.” She smiled again, ignoring the way his eyes flickered darker for a second, knowing she was keeping something from him, yet again. His brow furrowed as he regarded her with one of his puppy-eyed looks. She sighed, feeling like she ought to assure him it was nothing, just a slip of the tongue. Or maybe she needed to convince herself.

“Clint. Ignore it, it was nothing important. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Sure. Yep. Whatever.” His bland reply showed how much he didn’t believe her. She huffed, remaining silent for a long moment before shutting her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointed look on his face this way.

“What is it, Clint? Whats bothering you?” She knew the answer. Of course she knew that she was the problem. His reply came quickly, too quickly. As though he already had the words ready and rehearsed. As if he had always know this would happen, and he’d just been waiting for the inevitable.

“You’re blocking me out again, Tasha.” His resigned tone almost hid the hurt feeling beneath it. Almost.

“What do you mean?” She refused to accept or deny anything yet, steeling her expression.

“I nearly got you back. I know I was close. But then you lock yourself up again and try to push me away.” He sighed, and she heard him tugging his shoe back on. _Please don’t leave, not yet._

“It’s going to be easier on both of us, when I go back, if I push you away now. Just because I joked with you, doesn’t mean I have any intention of staying here and continuing to endanger you because you so naively trustme.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” There was a pleading note to his firm words that she rarely heard. “And I’m not naive.”

“You can’t stop me,” her eyes shot open as she snapped back, “and you’re defiantly naive if you think you can convince me otherwise.”

“I know I can’t convince you. That’s not what I’m trying to do here.” He sighed again, and she kept her gaze focused intently on the ceiling far above her.

“Then what exactly are you trying to do, Barton?” She was wary to keep her expression monitored, but let some of her annoyance show. It infuriated her that he was so intent on repetitively having the same fight over and over.

“Understand you.” Clint huffed, crossing his arms.

“I already explained my reasoning. It’s not my fault you disagree.” She turned her head to stare at him, holding his gaze for a few silent minutes. He kept his mouth stubbornly shut, and eventually she gave in.

“What are you thinking?” She sighed.

“I’d ask you the same.” His voice was empty, controlled. The devoid tone made her tense up slightly.

“You’re still mad at me.” She stated, keeping her voice just as flat.

“I’m not mad,” he replied softly, “however I am slightly upset.”

 

Natasha frowned slightly, irritated with herself for reading him wrong. Clint was just as good at hiding emotions as she was. “Why?”

“Because it hurt me to know that I care about your life more than you do.”

“And I care more about your life than _you_ do, otherwise you wouldn’t be so intent on keeping me around,” she retorted, a hint of concern edging through the irritation in her voice.

“Would you stop talking about yourself like you’ve been sent to kill me? At present you pose little danger to me, that may change in the future, but for now I feel safe around you.”

“I pose ‘ _little danger’_?” She was on her feet in an instant, glaring down at him, despite her muscles protesting the sudden movement. “And you wonder why I’m so concerned that I might change and you wouldn’t be prepared for it. You’d be a sitting duck!”

“A sitting hawk, really…” He was joking at a time like this. _Unbelievable_. She scowled, her fist striking the wall uselessly, only making her knuckles hurt as she paced as far away from him as possible.

“Why do you insist on doing this to me?” She muttered, her posture sharp as she spun around to glare at him again.

“Why are you taking it so personally?” He frowned as his eyes followed her around the small room.

“Because this is the hardest thing I’ve had to so and you’re just making it worse!” She snapped, refusing to look at him as she folded her arms and faced the back wall, seething. Clint let out a slow, steady breath behind her, and she knew he would be watching her with sad eyes, so she didn’t look.

“I don’t want to make things hard for you, I just want to help. The problem is that we have different ideas of what that help would entail.”

“If you wanted to help, and knew what was best for you, you would let me out of the tower.” She continued glaring at the wall, reducing her composure to a scary level of calm.

 

“The easiest option isn’t always the right one, Tasha. I’m not letting you out of here, end of discussion.” He sighed audibly.

“It’s hardly the easiest option, the easiest option would be to take myself out of the equation,” she kept her voice low and void, glad not to be seeing his reaction. “But I’m far too selfish for that.”

“Natasha.” He spoke softly, and she could _almost_ _hear_ his muscles tensing as he stared at the back of her head. He was so predictably concerned. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so annoying.

“Yes, Clint?” She replied blandly, turning to face him. His face creased with sorrow and he met her eyes for a long moment.

“Sometimes we need to be selfish,” was all he said, though it was obvious there way more that he wanted to say. His intense gaze burned into her and she stilled, watching the way his eyes flickered slightly as if he was formulating what to say next.

“Clint… what is it?” She sighed as he dropped his eyes to stare at his shoes.

“It’s just exactly what I’ve been saying the whole time. I’m not mad at you, I’m just upset because you don’t hold your life in as high regard as you should. So if either of us are selfish, it’s me, keeping you locked up in this tower. If being selfish keeps you alive, then so be it.”

 

Natasha didn’t move for a long moment, before she moved silently to sit beside him again. “You shouldn’t be upset, you can’t do anything about it. And um, earlier when you asked what I said… I missed you, Clint.” She hated admitting to her petty feelings, but if it would stop him moping for long enough for her to get the guts to leave him, then it would be worth it.

“Did you really?” He seemed genuinely surprised, but there was a faint smile to his eyes.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” She was taken aback by his surprise, averting her eyes to look at the floor before she showed more emotion than either of them could handle.

“Well, you do seem to have a habit of avoiding me when you can…” Clint grumbled.That made her feel slightly guilty, because she knew it was true, but she hardly had an excuse.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both consumed by their own trails of thought. She decided to risk a stab in the dark about what he was fretting over. Even if it wasn’t what he was thinking of in that moment, she knew he’d probably thought over it countless times before.

“We’ll never be able to fully undo the effect that the Red Room had on my head, you know that right?” Natasha leant her head back against the glass.

“Won’t stop me from trying,” he replied easily, flicking his eyes to meet hers.

“Why bother? It’s a waste of time.” Her eyebrows furrowed, but otherwise she kept her expression neutral.

“Because, as I keep telling you, I care about you.” He replied in exasperation.

“You already know what I’m going to say to that.”

“Yes, yes, don’t you dare say it.” He grumbled. She sensed the change in his tone and sighed.

“I care about you too,” she murmured, “ I don’t want you to get your hopes up and waste your time.”

“Time with you isn’t wasted, Tasha.”

She could feel the emotion leaking into her facade, and fought to keep her face blank. She stared at him for a moment, trying to find something to say. He just tapped his fingers on his knee, humming idly as though he hadn’t just told her something she’d never heard from anyone before. No big deal, right. She wanted to reply with a sarcastic report or a snappy remark to put that safe distance between them again. But she couldn’t.

“Thank you.” She managed, hating the sound of the words. It got a small smile out of him, and she couldn’t help but smile slightly too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another long chapter with all the Clint/Nat feels.  
> I'm undecided on how to write the ASL, so that it's differentiated from normal dialogue without becoming confusing... let me know if you have any suggestions.


	31. CLINT 1545 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protective Clint is protective.

 

Clint leaned back against the wall, letting out a pent up breath. She was stressing him the fuck out. As she always did. He didn’t know why he put up with her. _Yes you do._

“You’ve got that weird look on your face again,” she noted. _My face isn’t weird, it’s perfect._

“What look?” He asked innocently, tilting his head.

“The ‘ _I’m-deep-in-thought-and-hopeful_ ’ one. The one where you look like you really think somethings possibly. And knowing you, that _something_ is usually dumb and ridiculous and close to impossible.”

“This is just my normal face, isn’t it?” He furrowed his brow, confused.

“Never mind, it’s gone now.” She rolled her eyes, and stretched her arms out. A thin strip of her skin was visible for a second when her shirt rode up, and Clint frowned.

“How are you wounds going?” He asked casually, flicking his eyes back to his shoes. She shrugged non committally, as if he wouldn’t already be aware of the extent to which she was injured.

“They’re fine, they’ll be fine in a few days. Don’t worry.” She tried to play it off, but her knew her better than that and saw straight through it.

“Let me see, please.”

“It’s fine, Clint.” She rolled her eyes, while watching him cautiously. _Right, you’re definitely fine. Like that time you broke your ankle and told me it was fine. And that time you’d got a concussion and nearly died but just had ‘a slight headache.’_

“If they were fine, you’d let me see.” He said, unamused. She glared at him for a second, knowing he could see through her lies, and shifted away from him slightly, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” she said, as if that mattered to him.

“I’m used to battle scars, Nat. Show me.” He tried to stay patient but he knew the annoyance was showing in his voice. _Why does she always have to be so stubborn?_

“No.” She met his eyes with an unwavering stare. He sighed, ducking his hand under her arms and lightly taking the hem of her shirt. She pulled away immediately, using her legs to push against his chest. Not hard, but enough to slid back across the floor away from him. Her cold hands gripped his and wrenched them away from her as she rolled to her feet, taking a step back.

“Clint, it’s fine, stop worrying.” She avoided his eyes as he stood.

“If you’re fine, why are you being so defensive? I’m your partner Nat, and I need to know how bad it is. I’m taking a look.” He moved toward her in one swift motion, taking her wrists gently in his strong hands and forcing them away from him. She scowled, pushing against his grip, but years of archery training gave him the advantage. He held her against the wall, waiting for her to calm down.

“I don’t want you to start freaking out at me Clint, leave it.” She protested.

“I’m freaking out anyways because you’re being so secretive about it. So please, can I have a look?”

 

After a moment she reluctantly stopped trying to tear her arms out of his grip and gave him a small nod. He let go of her wrists,

“Thank you.” Clint slowly lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal the scattering of wounds across her abdomen. He tried to keep his reaction minimal, but it was quite a mess. He cringed inwardly, noting that several of the cuts were infected. Some of the injuries were fresher than others… most had evidently happened several days earlier, but some looked too new.

“I’ll be fine, Clint.” She said softly, keeping her eyes on him and not looking at her own injuries.

“Why aren’t there stitches in this?” He murmured as his eyes scanned over the ruined flesh.

“It doesn’t matter, stop worrying.”

“Nat.” He narrowed his eyes, dropping her shirt and meeting her gaze. “They would have stitched it up when you got back. What happened?”

“The wounds are fine, I’m not dead or dying, and they’ll heal eventually, so just stop stressing,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, and let out a breath, watching her closely.

“Ok. I’ll stop stressing. Just tell me what happened.” He noticed the brief flash of fear in her eyes and quickly corrected himself, “What happened _since you got back_.” The last thing he wanted to know was how she got the injuries in the first place. Not that she’d ever tell him.

“I smashed a chair, tried to hack Stark’s computer twice, checked every exit on the building, and climbed through a vent. No wonder they’re a little irritated.” She rolled her eyes, pulling her shirt up to look for herself and frowning.

“Irritated? Nat this is seriously bad. But you’re avoiding the question. What happened to the stitches? They should have stayed in for at least two weeks.” He wanted to pull her into a hug, but he knew she would beat him up, and she was already frail enough as it was.

“I was angry and I pulled them out.” She avoided meeting his eye, focussing instead on something behind him. Then frowning. Then clenching her fists. Clint didn’t have to look to know that it was Tony behind him. How typical that he would interrupt just as she was starting to be honest with him.

 

“What do you want Stark?” Natasha’s expression hardened up, and her blank mask slid easily onto her features.

“I want to know what the hell you’re doing in there, Barton.” Tony’s slightly shocked and overly grumpy voice came from the doorway, and Clint turned to face him.

“I’m checking up on Tasha’s wounds, as her stitches seem to have gone missing.” He said cooly, shooting Tony a glare.

“I’m fine,” she yanked her shirt down further, but was still stuck between the wall and Clint. “At least Stark knows you’re an idiot for being in here, Barton.”

 

Barton. She couldn’t even call him Clint anymore, because someone was around and she had to be void of all humanity and empty and _dammit if I ever find out who it was that did this to her…_

“Wait,” Tony interrupted Clint’s internal vendetta planning, with his _‘TradeMarkTonyStarkFrown.’_ “You pulled them out again? I told you to be careful, dammit.”

“Again?” Clint repeated, raising his eyebrow, and turning slowly back to look at Natasha, who was scowling.

“I don’t take orders, Stark. If it’d make you feel better, I’d tell you I pulled them out carefully. But then I’d be lying.” She flicked her eyes to Clint for a second, but no remorse showed in them. Clint felt his thoughts pooling up and knew he needed to get out of there before he got upset again. He wasn’t even sure if he was mad or angry or upset or just _disappointed_ but he knew he needed some time to think. He stepped back from her quickly, walking numbly toward the cell door.

“Tony, if you wouldn’t mind.” Clint stepped through once Tony unlocked the door, and pushed past him continuing out of the room without pausing. He knew leaving suddenly wouldn’t do any good but it was getting loud in his head and he needed a moment. Or an hour. Or a week. He turned the corner and paused briefly, kicking the wall and popping a vent open. He stooped down and slid inside, letting it fall shut behind him and entering the familiar maze of metal, where he could finally think.

 

 


	32. TONY 1605 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a haiku:
> 
> Tony feels real bad.  
> Clint ran off and feels real sad.  
> Nat also feels bad.
> 
> (this is why I'm not a poet)

 

Tony had just begun to convince himself that maybe not _everything_ was his fault. But then he went to find Barton, and moments after he he entered the room, the pair who had been seemingly at peace were suddenly very pissed off at each other. _Great one, Stark._ Natasha was watching the doorway Clint had just left through with an odd look that slowly turned to anger as she directed in at Tony.

“You pulled out your stitches.” He stated bluntly, frowning back at her as he took his usual place on the crate.

“Do you have a point?” She replied frankly, walking to the side of the cell and sitting against the wall.

 

He actually felt bad. If he’d known her wounds weren’t stitched up anymore, he might not have been as rough when they fought. Hopefully he hadn’t done her _too_ much more damage. But the bruise forming on her forehead reminded him that after attacking nasty people from her past, being captured and tortured in the Room, breaking out and fighting her way home, she had gotten back to safety only for him to drop a cabinet on her… whoops.

“Stop feeling bad, Stark.” She sighed, giving him a look that freaked him out because _how did she always know what people are thinking?_ “I threatened you and your girlfriend, I deserved what I got, and the injuries aren’t as bad as they look. Barton was overreacting like he always does.”

Tony crossed his arms, muttering slightly as he thought to himself. Maybe she actually did have some kind of magic or super power and just pretended to be human to make the rest of them feel inferior… Or maybe he was talking out loud again, he really needed to stop doing that-

“Either talk to me properly, or piss off. I’m not in the mood for your rambling, Stark.” She stared at him with a bored expression.

“Pepper said I should come talk to you…” ~~_even though I really don’t want to._~~

“How are your wrists?” She asked, surprising him slightly. He knew she was asking for the sake of conversation, and not because she cared, but still.

“You gave me some decent bruises.” He scoffed, tugging his sleeves over his hands subconsciously.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, sounding impressively honest as she stared at the floor. “I admire that you didn’t give in, though.”

“Hmpf.” He grunted, trying to find a semi decent excuse to flee the scene and return to his workshop. “Sorry about your stomach.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine, anyway.”

“You did a neat job on the security too. If I wasn’t so mad, I’d be impressed.” He smirked slightly.

“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “The hardest system I’ve ever hacked.”

“Not hard enough apparently,” he scolded. It still frustrated him that she’d managed to get through.

“I don’t think theres a flaw with the system. Just who you let close enough to your computer.”

“Hey. I’m not the one that let you out of the jewellery box. If it was my choice I’d have left you spinning around in here singing ‘Its a small world’ until your hair went grey.” He was glad she was behind glass again. He hadn’t bothered asking Fury why the hell he’d let her out, he knew he wouldn’t get a decent answer. _Would her hair ever go grey? Was she immune to natural stuff like that? Would she even survive that long?_

“Between everyone in this tower, you have no self-preservation skills whatsoever. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“Not a miracle. Mostly science.” He chuckled slightly, “and my mad talent.”

“Yeah, sure. Being able to piss everyone off will come in handy some day… or it might bite you on the ass.”

“Well I do have a great ass, so it must be tempting…”

“How does Pepper even put up with you?” Natasha groaned.

“I ask her that. Several times a day. She never answers…” Tony admitted. _How does Pepper put up with me?_ _Better question - why does she do it?_

“Look… you shouldn’t trust me. You shouldn’t trust a word that comes out of my mouth. But for what it counts, I would’t touch Pepper. I just needed to pressure you into opening a door… I’d never hurt her, Tony. Or you.” She focused on the wall behind him.

“I appreciate the notion, pumpkin, but theres bruises on my ribs and wrists that say otherwise.” He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t call me that. Why are you even still in here?”

“Uhhh. There was no immediate reason for me to leave. I was looking for an excuse to dash off without hurting your feelings but I guess you don’t have any so I’ll just be on my way…” He stood hastily, _you really don’t know when to shut up, do you?_

“Wait, no I wasn’t asking you to leave I was just wondering… seeing how you hate me and all, why you stuck around.”

“It’s not so much you that I dislike. Just your actions and motivations. Sometimes you can actually be tolerable.”

“Then it’s as I said. Self-preservation skills: severely lacking.” Natasha sighed.

“Are you talking about me or you?” Tony sat again cautiously.

“Definitely you.”

“You flatter me,” he shot her a sweet smile which she received with a disgusted look.

“No, your ego is big enough already. You’re a narcissistic asshole. Is that better?” She resorted. _Why does everyone insist on telling me things I already know? Its time consuming and slightly irritating._

“Oooh you’re tickling my chordae tendineae.” It was hard to tell wether she was joking with him or just being brutally honest… Was she calling him an asshole, or was she _calling him an asshole._ She was hard enough to judge on a normal day, but since she’d gotten back from the Room, she’d seemed even more distant.

“You’re looking at me funny, Stark.” She stated, watching him closely.

“You look funny.” He shot back with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re impossible.” She groaned.

“Yet here I stand.” He answered with a smug grin.

“Actually, you’re sitting down.”

“Your wit torments me.” He dragged his hand across his face with an exaggerated groan. _Okay she’s in a slightly joking mood, apparently. Not completely set on skinning me alive and eating my heart for dinner. What a relief._

“Tony?” Her voice was carefully controlled, as though she was about to ask him something that she didn’t like. _Uh oh._

“Um, hi.” He stilled, focusing on the sudden change in her demeanour.

“…Could you check on Barton for me?”

 

Was that sincerity in her voice or did she just want him to leave her alone? Either way, he’d been in here long enough, and it was as good a reason to get out as any. “Sure, my amazing people skills are bound to ruffle his feathers.” He gave her a small nod and stood to leave, catching her quiet “Thanks, Tony,” before he slipped out of the door in search of the bird boy.

 


	33. CLINT 1605 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angry birb is in denial.

 

Clint shuffled noiselessly through the endless vents. Alone and in silence save for his steady breaths and the occasional _clink_ of the zipper from his jacket hitting the steel beneath him. The cold was seeping into his hands and his bones, gradually cooling the anger pulsing through him. Each breathe drew in an icy stillness. He mapped out his emotions on the blueprint he had memorised of the vents. He passed the drop off which lead to the basement vents, tipping his thoughts about his partner into the dark below where they were easier to avoid. Crawling away from the thoughts he denied, and taking turns to shake the rest of them off his tail. By the time he reached the eighteenth intersecting path, his mind was a blank slate and he had regained his calm.

Even though the insides of the vents were identical, he knew exactly where he was. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, but the routes were familiar, so he knew that he was only metres away from the gym. Although he would have been more than happy to stay in the walls for hours longer, his hands itched for his bow, so he slide down an incline and popped open a grating, dropping onto the sprung floor below. He grabbed his bow and a quiver of arrows from their usual place against the wall, and stepped over to the target. He knew there was no point aiming for the bullseye, as he would hit it every time and just end up ruining his arrows. So with the familiar curve of his bow gripped tightly in his hands, he perfectly outlined each of the circles on the target, shooting arrows in quick succession into the seams between the segments.

 

He had no idea how long he had been there, but the routine of _aim, draw, release_ served well to distract him from his thoughts for while. Mostly anyways, he still found his mind drifting to their conversations, and wondering what it was that always went wrong in order for Natasha to revert to her default response. By the time he noticed the slight change in lighting that came with a door opening behind him, his arms were aching to the point of numbness.

“Barton.” Stark’s voice came from the doorway. Clint continued firing without turning to the other man.

“Stark, what do you want?” He snapped flatly.

“A cheeseburger and a massage, if I’m perfectly honest.” He joked before becoming serious. “Romanov sent me to see how you were.”

 

Clint whirled around, a sincerely pissed glare on his face. “She what? She thinks she can just say what she likes and treat people however the fuck she fancies, and only _then_ care about the consequences!?”

“You’re one to talk about consequence, Clint. The hell did you think you were doing, going in there with her?” Tony retorted.

“She’s my friend and she was _finally_ talking to me properly. I was trying to fix this mess. You weren’t there, Stark, so don’t pretend to understand the situation.” He reached to his back for another arrow and realised he’d spent them all. He dropped his bow to the floor with an annoyed grunt.

“What if she’d used you as a hostage to bribe her way back out?” He growled.

“No, Stark. You don’t get it.” Clint clenched his fists, his flare becoming even more vicious. “She wouldn’t do that, don’t you know her at all? Maybe if assholes like you stopped treating her like a damn monster, she’d stop feeling like one, and none of this would have happened!”

“I never said she’d hurt you, but she is known for making threats, so don’t you dare pin this on me. I haven’t done anything to her.” He glared back, eyes narrowing as he took a few more steps into the room. Clint tightened his fists until he knew his knuckles would be turning white, and he could feel the indents his nails were leaving in his palms.

“She wouldn’t threaten me. It’s not so hard to threaten you though, cause you’re so damn irritating all the time!” He forced himself to turn away, grabbing another set of arrows and picking his bow up again.

“I tried being nice to her! I stitched her up and brought her food and she threw that in my face by attacking me!”

“And you dug around into her past and pissed her off enough to smash a chair, what the hell did you expect?” He turned from the target back to face Tony, not lowering his bow. “You’re done here, Stark. Fuck off before I shoot you.”

He waited until the door slammed shut behind Tony before releasing the arrow and allowing it to thud into the door where his head had been seconds earlier.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to use the vents as a sort of mind palacey type of thing for Clint. I was taught how to put mental factors on a physical plain, so I figure I would apply it to Clint and his escape routes.
> 
> Also its kinda fitting that he goes to the vents to vent...


	34. TONY 1700 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A not-so-nice surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS  
> ABOUT  
> TO GO  
> D  
> O  
> W  
> N

 

When the gym door shut behind him, Tony was sure he heard an arrow slamming into it, so wasted no time in getting the hell away from there. It seemed to him like the only person making any sense was Pepper. He stomped down the hallway, deciding to seek some solace in her arms. He passed the kitchen before pausing with a sick feeling in his stomach and taking a second look. Pepper was slumped at the table, her skin pale. Everything went silent as he stood in fear, watching her for movement.

“Pep?” He called hesitantly, praying to gods he didn’t believe in that she would reply.

She didn’t.

“Pepper?” His voice quavered as he hurried to her side, taking her cold hands in his. “No, no, no, sweetheart wake up.”

 

Her breathing was slow and heavy, as though she were in a deep sleep, but Tony knew it was something worse than that. At least she was still breathing. He propped her up in the chair, taking her small wrist to check for her pulse. It was slow. _Too slow._

“C’mon babe, your heart is stronger than mine,” Tony murmured. “JARVIS, why didn’t you tell me? JARVIS?” Tony nearly punched himself in the face when he realised he hadn’t put JARVIS back online since Romanov had shut the whole system down. He looked back to Pepper, noticing the slight swelling of her mouth and throat.

“No…” he breathed, turning to look at the table top; a spoon was perched in an unfinished bowl of yogurt. He dipped his finger in and tried a bit, relieved to see that she hadn’t been silly enough to eat anything with strawberry in it. There was an odd edge to the taste, however. Something bitter and vaguely familiar… his fist clenched when he recognised it to be the same taste that had been in the pancakes he’d had only a day earlier.

 

“That bitch.” He growled. At least he knew it wasn’t anything too dangerous, and Pepper should be waking up within the next few hours. He picked her up gently and carried her to the medical bay, laying her on the bed again and setting the computer to monitor her vitals, before standing with a scowl and heading down the the holding cell. He didn’t knock before he entered. He didn’t smile or say hello. Didn’t check what kind of mood Romanov was in. Tony just stormed straight to the glass and slammed his hand against it, glaring down at Natasha with a deathly look in his eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry?


	35. NATASHA 1725 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nat was just thinking she might be stuck here forever, when a distraught billionaire stumbled in and gave her a perfect scenario to manipulate.

 

Natasha was investigating the damage done to the wounds on her abdomen, hating how long it was taking them to heal. It turned out they were a lot worse than she had first thought, and she probably shouldn’t have been ignoring the pain from them for the past few days. Aside from the raw gashes, there was now deep purple marks in places she’d bruised from her scuffle with Stark. And she was pretty sure the filing cabinet would have left some nasty colours across her face too. She wasn’t paying too much attention to her surroundings for a change, as she had concluded that no one would want anything to do with her for a while. So she was uncharacteristically taken off guard when a loud crash was heard against the glass just behind her head.

 

Jumping up, her eyebrows furrowed and she spoke out hesitantly. “Tony…?”

“You told me you wouldn’t touch her!” He gasped, his voice dangerously low. He was seething, angrier than she’d seen him at all recently, his shoulders rising and falling with his quick breaths. Instinct told her to step back, but she stepped forward instead, mind racing as she scanned over his body language. _Pepper._

“Somethings happened to her?” She didn’t like how events seemed to be playing out.

“Don’t act innocent, you bitch. You know exactly what happened!” He slammed his hand against the glass again loudly, red eyed. For once, Natasha didn’t know how to respond. _This is dangerous territory._

“Stark… you think _I_ hurt Pepper? Fuck. I haven’t been let out of this cell, what did she say that made you think it was me?”

 

Tony just glared at her for a moment before checking the key pad beside the lock. He frowned at it for a second.

“Someone’s meddled with this. Did you do it when Barton opened it? Set it to unlock at a certain time so you sneak in and out as though no one would notice?” He jabbed a finger at her through the glass. “She didn’t have to say anything for me to know. I recognise your handwork.” He hissed.

“What? You’re joking, Stark. I didn’t lay a hand on your girlfriend, and I was telling the truth when i said I wouldn’t touch her!” She protested. This was just the worlds way of getting back at her for letting people trust her. “Stark, listen to me. I don’t have a clue what you’re on about. Tell me what the fuck happened!” She snapped, getting more and more frustrated with the situation.

“Sleeping pills in her food, sound familiar? You’re the one who insisted that I shouldn’t trust you, so don’t even bother pretending you had nothing to do with it!”

“This this through rationally. I’m a better assassin than that, I wouldn’t use the same method twice on two closely connected people within such a small time frame! It wasn’t me.”She yelled. This was ridiculous. But if he was telling the truth then someone in the tower was trying to frame her… someone who knew about the pancakes… that didn’t leave many options.

“I’m not buying it!” He yelled back. “You lured Barton into the cell so you could mess with the lock. You bought yourself time by sending me to talk to him, then you snuck out, mixed some drugs into her food, and snuck back in to cover your tracks. It’s obvious.”

“What the hell? Why would I drug Pepper then get _back into the bloody cell?_ If I had done all that, then logically I’d have drugged Pepper a lot more, then lied about it being poison so I could blackmail you into letting me out of the tower, or at least use her as a good enough distraction for me to hack your systems again. I wouldn’t just come back into the cell and sit on my ass, what would the point of that be?”

 

 _Derm’o._ She’d spoken without thinking, and just given an already paranoid man more conclusions to jump to. _Bad move, Romanov._ Fortunately he hadn’t seemed to be paying too close attention to what she had been saying. Unfortunately, the only part he’d heard was the worst part, and the least true.

“Poison?” His voice was low, and eerily quiet. She paused, the assassin side of her brain kicking in.

_Someone has literally laid the groundwork, I just have to manipulate it and I might just get out of this tower…_

Everyone in the tower was going to suspect her anyways. Clint was pissed at her, which made it easier for her to leave. There was nothing tying her to the tower, so why should she pass up this opportunity? She pulled up her manic smirk and gave a small shrug.

“Maybe, what’s it worth, Stark?” She allowed her Black Widow demeanour to take over her facial expression and voice, focussing and threatening gaze on Tony. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a few deep breaths.

“Will she be okay?” He was pleading, and she could hear the crack in his voice. He really believed she’d poisoned Pepper. She would be proud of her convincingness if she wasn’t so mad at herself.

“Will you let me out?” She shot back, raising an eyebrow and hardening her expression, pushing away the guilt that he was forcing on her. He rested his forehead against the glass and screwed his eyes shut, mumbling silently to himself as though voicing his thought process, lips moving soundlessly. He groaned, pushing away from the cell and pacing back and forth.

“Dammit, just tell me what you did to her!”

 

She folded her arms, choosing not to look at him, worried that if she did for too long her resolve would break. “Stark, here’s how it’s going to work. You’re going to get my two Glocks from wherever Fury’s locked up my stuff, plus my widows bites. You will let me out of this cell and unlock the tower doors and I swear on my debt to Barton that I will tell you how to fix what is currently killing her.” She lied, hating how easily the words came to her. “You have ten minutes, or else you’ll be stuck with the wrong redhead still alive in the building.”

“I can’t,” he choked out between panicked breaks, “I don’t know where any of your stuff is, I swear.”

“Fuck. Fine. Get me the first gun you can find and two knives. Sharp ones, not necessarily throwing ones.” She demanded, biting down on her tongue to keep her mind off the pained expression on Tonys face. “Nine minutes and counting.”

“I’m not helping you anymore than I have to.” He hissed. “Get them yourself.” He punched the combination into the keypad and scanned his thumb before collapsing to the ground and pulling his knees to his chest, trying to control his breathing.

 

She hadn’t even expected to be let out of the cell, and she hesitated momentarily, surprised. She regained her composure quickly, pushing out of the door. She swapped her guilt for anger, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up.

“I’m not going to Russia without any weapons, so either you get up, unlock the weapons cupboard, and unlock the front door. Or, you watch your precious little Potts die. You better get a grip, because she needs you.”

“She doesn’t deserve this,” he mumbled, his voice heavy.

“Then fix it,” she quipped back simply, shoving him toward the hallway. “Seven minutes.” She walked swiftly with him toward the weapons storage area, wondering how long she could keep up the facade. She dared not think about how affected he would be by this later.

“Open the door.” She ordered, halting him. He didn’t even look up, still lost in his thoughts. She grabbed his hand and pressed his thumb against the scanner, allowing the door to open. She darted in, disappointed to see that her weapons were nowhere in sight. She grabbed a couple of blades and straps, pulling up her trouser leg to attach one to her calf, the other to her arm. She slid one gun into the waistband of her sweatpants - _ugh, how impractical, no time to change -_ gripping another tightly in her left hand. Pulling the door shut behind, she grabbed the shoulder of his shirt, dragging him down the stairs and to the front door of the tower.

 

“Five minutes.” She spun to face him, waiting for him to open the door so she could make a run for it. She hoped no one else in the tower had noticed them.

“Pepper first!” He snapped, focusing on her suddenly, and staring in slight surprise and fear at the gun in her hand, as though he had only just noticed it. “You swore to help Pepper.” He pulled his arm from her grip, turning to push her against the wall. She rolled her eyes. He may be stronger, but she had better technique. She shoved his shoulder in the wrong direction, loosing the force behind his arm so she could swap their positions, holding her gun to him. He was still gripping the collar of her jacket, so she smacked his hand away with the gun.

“Clint and I have a code for poisons and their antidotes. You open the door and I tell you the codeword. Clint will tell you the solution.” She hoped that would give her enough time to hijack one of Starks cars before he realised there never was any poison, and tried to track her down. “Dammit. I swear on Bartons life I will tell you what I did to her.” She pressed the nose of the gun harder against his skin. “Fine.” He cursed under his breath, stumbling to the front door once she stepped away from him. Reluctantly, he scanned his hand and entered the code, glaring at her the whole time. As soon as the door opened, she jammed her foot into the gap to stop him trying to pull it shut again.

“Don’t take any crap for this. Protecting someone you love is worth anything.” She mumbled to him, meeting this eyes. “British Vodka. Go find Clint, you have two and a half minutes.” She pushed him away from her and stepped backwards out of the door, turning to run to the nearest car.

“You’re going to pay for this, you just wait!” He yelled after her as the door sealed between them. The words sent an uncomfortable shudder down her spine.

“Oh, I know.” She muttered to herself,

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lets get emotionally attached to characters, they said.  
> it will be fun, they said.


	36. TONY 1725 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's top priority is keeping Pepper safe.  
> He should have realised Clint's priority is Natasha.  
> And he just let her go.

 

Tony ran. He hated himself for letting her go, but he couldn’t fail Pepper. He just couldn’t. He threw open every door her passed, searching for the archer who held the last bit of his hope.

“Barton!?” He screeched, kicking open the doors to the gymnasium and hurrying over to the where the other man was pulling arrows out of a target. “What the hell does British Vodka mean?” He grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.

“Stark, what the fu-“ He stopped when he saw Tony’s face. “Woah… calm down, Tony. British Vodka… um, Nat always said it was like water. Is that what you meant? Has something happened?”

“Like water… wh-what’s that fucking mean?” Tony yelled, his fingers digging into Clint shoulders, angry at how calm the other man was. “Peppers been poisoned, you need to tell me more than that! It’s got to mean something!”

“Wait what? Tony what the fuck happened? Where is she?” He winced, puling himself out of Tony’s grip.

“I’ll explain later, just tell me how to help her!” Desperation was clouding his mind. _Can’t you see I’m in a rush, Barton!_

“Tony. I don’t know how to help her until I see her, so tel me where the hell she is!” Clint dropped his arrows to the floor and smacked Tony’s forehead, clearing his thoughts. “Where. Is. Pepper.?”

 

Tony reeled backwards, stunned, but focussed enough to reply after cursing under his breath.

“Med bay,” he managed.

Clint nodded, grabbing Stark’s arm and pulling him along as he ran to the med bay. Tony stumbled after him in a blind rage, trying (and failing miserably) to stay calm and not get emotional. They shoved open the door to the med bay and Tony leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Clint hurried over to the ginger, taking her pulse and then holding a hand above her mouth to feel her breath. Clint seemed concerned, but not frantic, so Tony guessed it couldn’t be too bad. He resisted the urge to curl up in the bed next to her.

“Tony, do you know what poisoned her? Is there any of it left?” Clint asked calmly. Tony nodded and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing the bowl of yogurt. He tore through the corridor back to the med bay, holding the bowl in Clint’s face, still too freaked out to speak.

Clint backed up a bit, then prised the bowl from Tony’s hands. He sniffed it carefully, then dipped a finger in and tentatively took a taste. His features relaxed before he furrowed his brow and shot Tony an annoyed look.

“Tony, what the hell? She’s not been poisoned, just knocked out. Chill out a bit.” He dumped the bowl on a bench nearby.

Tony clung desperately to the words. “It’s not poison?” he repeated quietly, double checking and taking a deep breath.

“No, Tony, it’s not. She’s gonna be fine. She’s had… I don’t know, sleeping pills I think? Maybe some cold & flu tablets? Nothing dangerous. She’ll wake up in a few hours.”

 

Tony was so relieved he wanted to scream. He compromised, rubbing his eyes and taking Peppers hand.

“Thank you.” He shut his eyes, not wanting to think about what could have happened if it _had_ been poison.

“Don’t thank me,” Clint replied, “just tell me what happened. Why did you think it was poison? And what the hell were you asking about British vodka for?”

 _Oh dear. He’s not gonna be happy about this…_ He chewed his lip, stepping away from Clint slightly.

“Well… um, when I found her I was pretty upset as you might imagine. And I thought it was just sleeping pills… like the pancakes. Sooo I went to yell at Romanov. And uh, she said it was poison and Pepper would be dead in ten minutes and she would only tell me the antidote if I…” He trailed off, realising that with Pepper safe, he was now the one in danger.

Clint’s expression darkened as he turned to face Tony.

“Stark,” he said, scarily calm, even though his eyes were flashing with a dangerous level of anger. “Tell me you didn’t...”

Tony didn’t bother trying to meet his eyes, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He tried to take a deep breath but he could feel the panic rising again.

“She’s gone, Clint.”

Barton barely waited for his confirmation, turning around and slamming his fist down on a table, sending equipment flying across the floor. His breathing became heavier as he whirled around to face Stark again.

“I can’t fucking _believe_ you! You fucking asshole, didn’t you even think for a second? Could you not pull your head out of your ass for one tiny moment to realise you’ve just let her go to her death!?”

“I didn’t want to let her leave, Barton. She told me Pepper had 10 minutes. I didn’t have time to work something else out. You know I wouldn’t have let her go if it was me that was going to die, but I was _not_ letting anything happen to Pepper.”

“Fuck it Tony, that’s not good enough. You’re a self-proclaimed genius, you should have figured something out!” he snapped, grabbing the neck of Tony’s shirt and dragging him from the room.

“Yes, I am. Which is why I pinned a damn tracker to her jacket!” He yelled back, struggling out of his grip. “What else was I supposed to do? For all I knew, Pepper was dying and-“ he choked on the rest of his words as they sunk in. _You nearly lost her. If Romanov hadn’t been lying and you hadn’t gotten there in time… you may not have found Pepper until her body was cold and lifeless._ He shoved the thought to the back of his mind, and tried to remind himself that she was okay. She wasn’t the problem anymore.

 

“Pepper is fine Tony, I swear. But if you don’t get us both on a jet to follow Tasha _right now_ -“ Clint had calmed a bit, but his anger was still enough to cut off the threat by vigorously nodding his head.

“You don’t want to contact Fury or prepare at all or call in the others?” Tony tried, still feeling uneasy.

“As is we have time for that. If anything happens to Nat, I’m blaming it on you.”

“No, you’re right. And I’m not sure they’d even join us if we told them where we’re going… I’ll get us a jet.”

“I’m gonna go grab my bow, start tracking her location.” Clint turned and walked briskly away. Tony stepped back into the room to give Pepper a soft kiss on her forehead before hurrying to his lab.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!
> 
> Props to Tony for keeping enough of a cool head to put a tracker on her. 
> 
> In case you missed it, this is when he bugged her:
> 
> (Tony pulled his arm from her grip, turning to push her against the wall. She rolled her eyes. He may be stronger, but she had better technique. She shoved his shoulder in the wrong direction, loosing the force behind his arm so she could swap their positions, holding her gun to him. He was still gripping the collar of her jacket, so she smacked his hand away with the gun.)
> 
> Nat didn't suspect a thing hehe. But yep Tony slipped a tracker into her jacket at the 11th hour.


	37. NATASHA 1735 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Clint convinced Natasha to join SHIELD, she thought her life of running away was over. 
> 
> Seems like old habits die hard.

 

Natasha yanked open the door of the nearest car, one of Tony’s ‘low profile’ sedans. She slid into the drivers seat and pulled a bobby pin from her hair. Sliding it into a groove on the steering column, she popped open the exterior and tossed the panel aside. She scanned her eyes over the wires and determined which was connected to the ignition and which lead to the battery. She tugged the wires out, and used her teeth to strip the insulation off the ends, twisting the exposed wiring together. In another situation, she would have gone to more of a effort to keep her work neat, and to prevent the wires shorting out when they came into contact with other parts of the car. But she had no time for the luxuries of safety today. She opened the bobby pin up and slipped it behind the steering wheel, slamming her palm into it to break the steering lock. Pushing the clutch in, she touched the ends of the wires together, hardly flinching at the sparks, and smirking in relief when the engine came to life.

 

Within seconds she was speeding toward the airport.

 

She pulled into a taxi spot, tugging the wires apart and shutting the car door behind her. Tony would get his car back eventually. Slipping through to the front of the queue was easy enough. She paid in cash, purchasing four seperate tickets to different airports in Russia. _Have fun tracing that, Barton._ She tucked her boarding pass into her pocket and headed to the gate.

 

>>><<<

 

A flash of her ID card and a couple of flirty smiles did the trick. She got through security easily enough, even with her suspicious luggage, and was now locked on board a flight and sitting in the lavatory with her carry on bag. She was subtly taking the guns apart to check for trackers, and trying not to think about the upcoming shit she was getting herself into. She realised the knives she had grabbed were Clint’s, and she smirked slightly, knowing he’d be pissed off, but glad to have something of his with her.

 

Once she had taken inventory of everything she had with her, she shoved it all back into her bag and headed back to her seat. She glared out of the window at the country she despised. She hated the cold. It only reminded her of the hours on end of training in the snow until her limbs went numb. She hated the vast expanses. It was so empty and lonely. She hated all her memories of Russia, and she hated coming back. But she had to get away from the idiots she cared about, who’d end up getting hurt sooner or later. She had to take down the asshole who had ruined her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay I know you can't hotwire cars like this anymore cus they have that new security thing as of like 2009 but shhh.
> 
> Nat's badass, she would find a way.
> 
> (ps don't try this at home)


	38. CLINT 1755 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint drags Tony along to save Nat because even if he'd never tell her, he's totally gone for her.

 

Clint ran back to the gymnasium, grabbing the bow and arrows he had been using earlier, letting himself fall into the actions instead of thinking about how unlikely it was that he would see Natasha again. His anger was still simmering, but stress was beginning to set in. As soon as she noticed the tracker, she would disappear off the face of the earth, and they would have no chance of ever finding her. He wanted to hate Tony for letting this happen, but he knew if their positions were reversed he would have reacted similarly. He rushed into the weapons cupboard, grabbing a quiver with exchangeable arrows heads. He glanced around, cursing, before hurrying back to Stark’s lab.

“You let her take my throwing knives.”

“Hey. I didn’t _let_ her take anything. But it just so happens that I was working on a more aerodynamic upgrade for them, so take those.” Tony, who was typing away at his computer, no doubt putting JARVIS back online, nodded toward a pair of knives on the table, clearly unfinished, but they would do the job. Clint grabbed them and tucked them into his belt as Tony grabbed his suitcase suit and headed to the garage. They tossed their gear into the backseat of one of Tony’s many cars, but Clint kept a firm grip on the quiver of arrows.

“I’d rather hold onto the explosive ones, if it’s all the same to you. You’re known to cut corners.” Clint mumbled.

“Suit yourself,” Tony slid into the drivers seat and started the car. “What have you got for us, Jay?”

 

Clint dropped into the passenger seat, and pulled the door shut with a little more force than necessary. He felt his muscles tensing, fingers closing around the quiver of arrows in his hands. He jumped slightly when the AI’s voice came through the stereo, not used to hearing him anywhere except for the ceiling.

“There is a jet ready for you and Mr Barton, sir,” JARVIS stated, “As for Ms Romanov, she appears to be currently boarding.”

“How long till we reach the jet?” Clint muttered through gritted teeth.

“I calculate it will take twenty minutes, however Sir is known to drive… hastily.” The AI said, and Clint saw Tony smirk slightly in the corner of his vision.

“Give me fifteen minutes and we’ll be onboard. Don’t you worry your pretty face, Clint. You helped my girl, I’ll help you save yours.”

Clint closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headrest. Sighing heavily, he muttered back after a moment.

“She’s not ‘ _my girl,’_ Tony.”

“Whatever you say, feathers.”

>>><<<

 

After a few minutes, the silence was becoming unbearable and Clint knew both of them could do with a distraction from their thoughts.

“Hey, Tony… how’d you tell Pepper you liked her?” He kept his voice casual, twirling a (non explosive) arrow between his fingers.

Tony nearly crashed the car, snapping his head around to stare at Clint in disbelief.

“Now!? We’re gonna talk about this _now!?_ ”

Clint shrugged, putting his walls back up and masking his expression as the car screeched around a corner onto the highway.

“No, don’t worry, ignore it. It wouldn’t help anyway.” He sighed, knowing Tony would talk anyways.

“Well, I mean it was pretty obvious. She knows me well… and there was all those parties where I got drunk and tried to kiss her…”

“I tried being obvious with her! She’s just so fucking oblivious to the fact that anyone could even care about her.”

“Hm. Well I wouldn’t suggest trying to kiss her unless you’re willing to sacrifice an eyeball. She’s mysterious. Try a game of celebrity heard. Label her as MrsFeatherboy. See if she takes the hint.” Tony drummed his fingers on the wheel, keeping his gaze on the road. Clint ignored his stupid suggestion with a sigh.

“She won’t even let me trust her, Tony. If she found out I love her she’d freak the fuck out, and what if something like _this_ happens again?” _Assuming we actually survive this in the first place…_

“Mate.” Tony started, flicking his eyes over at him with a TonyStarkSmile (trademark). “I reckon if we pull this off, anything is possible. Not to mention this would be a perfect demonstration of your unwavering love and refusal to abandon her to fate.”

“Never pegged you as the knight-in-shining-armour type, Tony.” He scoffed slightly.

“Is your vision playing up too now? I literally wear a suit of shining armour all the time.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“My vision is brilliant. You couldn’t even build something to rival it.” He shot back, glad they were focussing on something other than their impending doom.

“Yes, yes and I’m terribly envious. Back to the important stuff though. You know I had a bet with Brucey on you two.”

“You what?” Clint turned in his seat to glare at him in shock. “What were you even betting on?”

“Let’s just say I was rooting for you.” Tony smirked, slamming the brakes on and shutting off the engine. Clint looked up to see that they had arrived at the airport, and sure enough, a shiny Stark jet was waiting for them.

“Let’s boogie.” Tony jumped out of the car and opened the back door, grabbing his gear. Clint huffed, throwing open the door and climbing out, grabbing his equipment.

“Why’d you bet on us? I mean, what made you think there was anything to bet on? Was I _that_ obvious?” Clint muttered.

“You guys just get on.” Tony replied, locking his car with a knowing smile as he headed to the jet.

 

Clint ignored him again, turning his attention instead to the jet. _Damn,_ it was nice. Small enough to be fast but large enough to be luxurious,a gleaming silver finish that boasted wealth. Tony noticed him admiring it and chuckled.

“You know me, I see something nice and it has to be mine. Key example: Virginia Potts.” He hurried up the stairs. Clint shook his head, running up behind him.

“Stark, this is more than just ‘nice.’ Why do you ever travel in the suit when you could just fly around in this?” He couldn’t help being slightly impressed. SHEILD missions had always been economy seating at best. Tony seemed to ponder his question for a moment as he collapsed into one of the comfortable looking chairs.

“Because, in the suit I can steer and no one talks to me.” Tony concluded.

Clint took a seat on the chair opposite, definitely not looking as relaxed as the other man.

“Well, I can’t say much for the steering, but I’m planning to catch up on some sleep before we get there, so that solves your ‘no one talking to you’ issue.”

“Good idea. You do that.” Tony pulled his phone out, likely to check on Pepper, and Clint nodded, leaning back in the chair and shutting his eyes. Being a sniper, he was able to sit still for hours on end without even getting drowsy, but the past few days of stress had him exhausted, so he was asleep within a few minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww Clinton.
> 
> Now I know in MCU Clintasha isn't really a thing, and in the comics Clint has all these other women but FOR REAL THEY HAVE GREAT CHEMISTRY. 
> 
> And I find it adds a very interesting aspect to their character study because here we have two people who can basically turn off their feelings... but maybe they don't want to anymore.


	39. TONY 1940 SATURDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hawk and the genius finally find out what they're up against...

 

Tony was shocked (and maybe even jealous) by how quickly the archer managed to drift off to sleep. He guessed that as an agent he’d needed to be able to rest wherever and whenever the situation allowed, so comfort probably wasn’t a major issue to him.

 

He had no messages or missed calls from Pepper, so he assumed she was still sleeping. He called her and left a voice message explaining the whole situation. He wished he could have stayed with her, but it was only fair that he aided Clint in finding Romanov.

 

He pulled out his laptop and set about tracking Natasha. JARVIS had given him leads on four possible airports she could be heading for, and luckily her tracker was still working. Which either meant she hadn’t noticed it, or she had placed it on someone else’s luggage and was leading them in the wrong direction entirely. Tony scanned maps of each airport, checking any suspicious looking buildings within an hours drive of each of them that could potentially be Natasha’s target.

 

His phone screen lit up, but he answered it before it even began to ring, leaping out of his chair to move down the cabin.

“Pep? Are you alright?”

“Tony! Where the hell are you? What happened? Why am I in the med bay?” She almost yelled in his ear, sounding slightly stressed, but he was just happy to hear her voice.

“Are you okay?”

“I’d be better if you told me whats going on!” She protested with a sigh. “But yes, I’m fine, why? What happened?”

Tony let out a breath that he had been keeping pent up for nearly an hour.

“You were drugged, Pepper. I’m sorry I should have had something in place to prevent stuff like this from happen-“

“Tony, stop, you’re blaming yourself again, it’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine. So don’t worry.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Tony… you’re fine, right? Where are you? Tony!”

“Uhhm. Well, right now I’m over the North Atlantic… in my jet… heading to Russia.” He braced himself for her response.

“ You’re _what!?”_ She screeched, “Anthony Edward Stark you have three minutes to explain yourself before I take a jet to come after you.”

“Agh, calm down darling. Please.” Tony took a breath, leaning his forehead against the wall of the cabin and staring out at the clouds below them while he picked his words. “You were drugged, Romanov said you were poisoned and had 10 minutes to live. I obviously freaked out. She said she would tell me the antidote if I let her out so uhh… let’s just say I’m trying to clean up my mess.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in one breath.

“Oh, Tony…” Pepper’s voice had an odd strain to it. “Just don’t die. Promise you’ll come back home to me.”

“I’ll try, Pep. You rest up, okay? And be careful what you eat. Only stuff from sealed packages.”

“Yeah, okay, okay. Just stop worrying about me and take care of yourself.”

“I can multitask.” Tony replied with a slight smirk, even though he knew she wouldn’t see it.

“Fine,” she chuckled lightly, “well, will that be all Mr Stark?”

“Uh… can you just stay on the line for a while? Please?” He held his breath.

“Of course, Tony. So hows the hawk?” She replied. Tony turned to look back at where Clint was sleeping in his chair, and he frowned.

“He’s sleeping. But he’s all fidgety and his hands are kinda clenched. He’s super worried about her.” He sighed.

“Do you think she knows how much he cares?”

“I don’t think she could even begin to comprehend it,” Tony answered honestly, turning around again to stare out of the window.

“Wait… how did she even drug me, I thought Romanov was in the cell?” Pepper asked, and Tony chewed his lip.

“I’m not sure yet. Clint was in there with her at one stage, maybe she did something then. I’m not sure how much I can trust him…” He lowered his voice, wondering if Clint really would have let her near the lock pad when he was so adamant about her staying in the tower.

“Tony,” Pepper’s frown was evident in her voice, “watch your back and all, but honestly - I don’t think he’s a bad guy. A little messed up, sure. Bad taste in women, and definitely dangerous if you’re his enemy. But I don’t think you need to worry about him. Don’t get stressed about it.”

“I’m not getting stressed, Pepper. I’m fine, I’m just being cautious because I don’t want my misplaced trust to get anyone hurt again. Because it always does, every single time, and I’m sick of it.” He grumbled.

“You’re too good Tony, but you can’t blame yourself for everything. I love you, and I need you to come home alive - and preferably not beaten up.”

“Anything for you, dear.” He sighed. He really hoped he wouldn’t let her down. _Again_. He turned back to face Clint when he heard the archers joints cracking noisily as he woke and stretched his arms out.

“Is that Pepper on the line? How is she?” Clint asked, sitting up further in the chair. Tony covered the mouthpiece;.

“How long until you get there?”

“Yes, she’s alright, thank you.” Tony said to Clint, covering the mouthpiece and frowning when he pulled an arrow out and began spinning it between his fingers. He rolled his eyes before answering Pepper.

“A few hours, I’m not sure. JARVIS can probably tell you. And hey - Clint! No weapons in the cabin!” He chided with a tight smirk.

“He’s awake?” Pepper asked in surprise. “Tell him his girlfriend can be a bitch. Wait no don’t say that he might hurt you…”

“Tell Pepper her boyfriend can be an asshole,” he muttered, placing the arrow down and raising an eyebrow at Tony. Damn those hearing aids he’s made him must be good.

“He called your boyfriend an asshole,” Tony said to Pepper. “I’m going to throw something at him.” He looked around for something he could grab.

“And she’s not my girlfriend!” Clint added, huffing irritably. “Also, I guarantee that whatever you throw at me _will_ get thrown back with far more force and accuracy.”

“You’re like children, you too. Please don’t throw anything.” Pepper sighed.

“Okay, okay, not throwing anything, jeez.” Tony rolled his eyes again, poking his tongue out at Barton. “Pepper, could you possibly check Romanov’s room on the off chance theres some useful information on her laptop or something?”

“Sure, give me a minute to find it.” She said, before the line went quiet.

 

Tony walked back over to sit in his chair, facing Clint. The archer watched him with a blank expression, once again twirling an arrow in his hand. Tony put his phone on speaker and balanced it on the armrest of his chair so that Clint could join the conversation. If he could hear what they were saying, he may as well be part of it.

“I swear I have the right room…” Peppers voice came again, “but it’s so bare. Just standard issue stuff.”

“Tasha’s particular about her stuff…” Clint commented, dropping his eyes to look at the phone. “Doesn’t like anything unnecessary.” “Alright.” Tony said slowly, watching his face and pretending not to notice the way his voice had slipped when spoke about her.”Check the laptop, and if theres anything in her bag.”

“Uhhh…” The sound of rustling and moving things around came from the phone. “There a file in here and… an arrow. Weird.”

“What’s in the file? Any maps of locations? Wait. An arrow. What kind? Like for a bow?” Tony crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair as Clint leant forward, eyes fixated on the phone.

“It’s a military grade black arrow. With a flat triangular nickel tip.” He said lowly, his voice dead serious. “I’m right, aren’t I Pepper?”

“I guess. I’m not the arrow expert Barton, but it’s black with a silver top. And yes, Tony, it’s for a bow.” Pepper said, as she seemed to be reading the file, the occasional turn of a page audible. Tony watched the man in front of him cautiously, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about the arrow anymore, so he changed the topic.

“Whats in the file? Any mentions of the Red Room or Russia?” Tony asked.

“Well it seems to be her old SHIELD file, but looks like she’s been adding stuff. Wait theres something written in Russian, give me a second to translate…” Pepper went quiet again, and Tony met Clints eye in an anticipating stare. “KPACHAR KOMHATA and some co-ordinates. I think we’ve struck gold, boys. I’ll text you a picture.”

“You’re a star, thanks Pep!” Tony tore his gaze off Clints face to check the incoming file on his phone.

“You wouldn’t survive without me,” Pepper teased, “okay I’m checking her laptop now. Oh there’s already some files open… what are these hmmmm- oh.”

“Pepper you might not want to read Tasha’s files…” Clint warned, flicking his eyes back to Tony.

“Data mine it for a location, Pep, but don’t read anything you don’t need to. It’s not pleasant.”

 

Tony studied the picture on his phone. The words RED ROOM were written in Russia in immaculate hand writing, followed by a set of spelt out co-ordinates, also in Russian. Natasha had probably spelt each of the numbers out so that to anyone else in the tower they wouldn’t be recognisable digits. He translated it, and set his laptop to find where they lead.

Clint sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Tony, where’s the co-ordinates for? How long will it take us to get there after we land?”

“Looks like a warehouse, less than an hour from the airport. I noticed it when I was looking at the maps earlier.” Tony knew his jet would be marginally faster than a commercial flight, so given the distances, and that she was trying to be discreet, they had a decent chance of catching her before she got to her target destination.

“Tony…” Pepper seemed wary, “I think I know who she’s going after. His name is uh… Kir Serafeim. Code name: The Serpent. He doesn’t seem too friendly… But with the amount of info she has on him, it definitely seems like he’s her main target.” She went silent for a few seconds. “This is a suicide mission, and she knows it.”

“Well, now it’s a pact,” Tony sighed, processing the information, “see if we have any dirt on him in the system.”

 

Pepper continued speaking, but Tony wasn’t hearing any of it, focussing instead on the quiet fear that was showing in the archers eyes. Clint had gone completely still, and Tony couldn’t even tell if he was still breathing, his eyes fixed on the phone.

“Im guessing you know of him?” Tony asked hesitantly, not liking the vibe he was getting.

“Know of him?” Clint scoffed, his fist clenching. “That man- no, he’s not even a man, he is a sadistic monster. Serfafeim is feared by even the most powerful in the underworld as someone you should never _ever_ cross. He’s practically everywhere.”

“It seems like he was heavily involved with The Red Room program.” Pepper mused, “Seems like he might have been the one to drag her into all this when she was a girl. Maybe he was her handler-”

“He didn’t _handle_ her, he _owned_ her.” Clint interrupted bitterly, “So he probably wants her back alive - doesn’t like his property damaged. They’re going to take another shot at using her. For years the only thing she was scared of was being used by them again, and she’s running straight into this.”

“Just… be careful, please. Both of you.” Pepper said quietly. Tony could picture the frown on her face that accompanied the words.

“We’ll be fine. All three of us will be home soon.” Tony replied, more to himself than Pepper or Clint.

 

The three of them lapsed into an unpleasant silence. Each too scared to say anything that might remind them of the dire situation they were faced with. Tony was drumming his fingers against the armrest of the chair when Clint finally spoke up.

“That arrow…” Clint stopped, flicking his eyes to the phone, to Tony, and then back to the floor.

“The one in Natasha’s room?” Pepper pressed, unable to see Clint’s stony expression.

“Yeah,” Clint continued with a sigh, “It’s the one I was supposed to kill her with, eight years ago in Istanbul.” He met Tony’s eyes in confused silence for a moment.

“She’s one complicated woman.” Tony said softly. “Why do you think she kept it?”

“I don’t know,” Clint shrugged, “We were arguing once, over what I did, and she said she wanted to take the arrow I should have used and stab me with it, to prove how stupid I was… So I threw it at her. She caught it of course, and stormed out. I thought she got rid of it… snapped it or something.”

“Maybe she’s still planning on stabbing you…” Tony mused, “you can ask her once we save her ass.”

“Probably,” Clint shrugged again, shutting down his emotions once more as he sat up with a blank expression. “Pepper, how long until we land?”

“You’ve still got nearly two hours, Clint. Do you guys even know what you’re going up against? From the notes here… it doesn’t seem like anything you’ve done before, especially not with such a small team and no backup.” Pepper sounded uneasy.

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” Tony suggested hopefully. Thinking about it to any more depth was just going to freak him out. He was fine with just improvising when they got there. Whats the point in a plan when it’s just going to go wrong?

“Don’t be rash, Tony. You guys can do this, just don’t be stupid about it.” She sighed.

“I’m not rash,” he grumbled in protest, crossing his arms defensively, even though his partner wasn’t present.

“Really?” Clint raised an eyebrow, “You’re possibly one of the most impulsive people I know, Tony.”

“Clint. You can’t talk. You’re incredibly rash too. The paperwork is a _nightmare._ ” Pepper chided.

“Alright, maybe the canary has a point. So do you, Pep. We’re a pretty reckless team. I’m pretty, Clint’s reckless.” Tony smirked.

“I’m _so_ much prettier than you, Stark. Ask anyone _except_ your girlfriend.” Clint kicked his leg out toward Tony, clipping his knee lightly.

“Hey! Don’t be rude. I feel threatened. Swooping season.”

“I’m out. I can’t listen to this any longer. Stay safe, both of you. I love you, Tony.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your irritating boy safe, Pepper.” Clint huffed.“Stop picking on me, I have a delicate ego-” Tony whined.

“ _Bye._ Take care. See you all when you get back.” The line went quiet and Tony put the phone back in his pocket, after glaring at Clint again.

 

“Go back to sleep, lover boy.” Tony gave him a weary smile, leaning back in his own chair with a smirk as Clint gaped at him.

“ _‘Lover boy?’_ We’re saving my partner from certain death, you can’t call me that!”

“Your so called ‘partner’ who sentimentally keeps the arrow you were supposed to kill her with, and who you admitted to being infatuated by. Hmm… gosh, I’m not great at logic or anything, but that sounds pretty obvious to me.” Tony drawled sarcastically.

“It’s not sentimental. She’s never sentimental.” Clint rolled his eyes.

“Tell me then, GrumpyBeak, what good is an arrow to someone who doesn’t even use a bow?” Tony tapped his foot against the thickly carpeted floor.

“Probably just to throw it back in my face next time she runs off on a suicide-mission to the exact place I risked my life getting her away from.” He mumbled bitterly, having no good answer to the question. Clint was good at hiding his thoughts, but Tony also had experience with press-smiles. He knew one when he saw one.

“She’ll be okay, Clint.” Tony said softly, recognising the anxiety building in the archer. Clint looked up, a little surprised.

“Sorry for yelling at you earlier. It’s not your fault she left, she’s just an annoyingly stubborn pain in the ass.”

“It’s okay, it was a justified response. I probably could have done more to stop her…” Tony admitted.

 

Clint went silent again, staring over Tony for a while as though he was reading him. Tony tried not to flinch under his gaze.

“I know I was mind controlled and everything… which is never a great way to make a first impression… but do I really still give off an untrustworthy vibe or something?” Clint seemed curious, but there was a resined tone to his voice. _What._

“Woah, hey. Don’t take it personally - I don’t even trust myself.” Tony replied slowly, trying to gauge where this was heading. “And in light of recent events, its understandable for an extremely paranoid being such as myself to find reasons to avoid trusting everyone and anyone.”

Clint frowned for a moment, but nodded slightly, sinking lower into his chair.

“Nat didn’t tamper with the lock on the door though. I watched her the whole time, she never went near it.” Clint assured him. _She must have done it when she hacked the computer the day before, then…_ Tony’s eyes narrowed.

“Tony, it doesn’t make sense. I _know_ her. She’d never use the same technique in such a small time frame, it doesn’t add up.” Clint drummed his fingers on his knee. He was giving Tony an odd look which made him feel uneasy. _Is there something he’s not saying? Is this a trap?_

Tony stayed silent as he tried to remain calm, which Clint unfortunately took as an invitation to keep talking.

“Something feels _wrong_ , Tony. The whole situation… somethings not right. We’re missing _something.”_

“I’m getting that feeling too…” Tony replied cautiously, trying to remember if the archer had any knives on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okie dokie so the villian in this is an outside character.
> 
> Kir Serafeim. a Russian name loosely translating to ruler/master and burning one/serpent.   
> I thought the name suited the antagonist because he's an absolute reptile who got off on torturing little girls and turning them into killers.
> 
> So yeah.


	40. CLINT 0050 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q. Whats better than being cramped on an airplane for over eight hours??  
> A. Being cramped on an airplane for over eight hours while having awkward but deep discussions with the only other person in the cabin about life and trust and all sorts of messy things like emotions.

 

Clint recognised the way Tony was watching him. He knew when someone was scanning for threats. What he didn’t know, was why Tony still didn’t trust him. But with over an hour left of just the two of them, he was not going to let them both sit here and overthink in silence.

“You two aren’t that different, you know.” He mused, just for the sake of saying _something._

“I have heard that way too often lately to be comfortable with my life choices.” Tony groaned, crossing his arms and propping his feet up.

“Not life choices. Personality traits.” Clint felt like he was having the same conversations every day, just with a different person. “You both demonise yourselves because of things that happened to you that were out of your control. Neither of you trust anyone, and you’re both convinced that you are detrimental to those around you.”

“Well you’re not wrong on the last part,” Tony pursed his lips, “but control is a matter of perspective. There’s always a choice.”

“Right. No. Explain to me how it’s your fault that someone basically stole your missiles and used them for the wrong purpose. Tell me how you ever had any choice in that.” Clint sighed. Patience is a virtue, but Clint is far from virtuous. _This is going to be a looonnng flight._

“I was perfectly content with staying blissfully ignorant of the who SI was selling to. I should have had people look into it, or at least put up safeguards to prevent anyone having access to this stuff. I _chose_ not to get involved.” He hissed, annoyance seeping into his tone.

“You had no idea! You can’t blame yourself for that. You didn’t have any say in it anyways, you just inherited a position in the world where everything was already set up. You trusted people because you had been taught and told to trust them. It wasn’t even a choice.”

“Whatever, Barton. You wouldn’t understand.” Tony sighed. _I wouldn’t understand? Of course. I’ve never had no choice in my actions. I’ve never been responsible for awful things. I wouldn’t understand. Idiot._

“All you do is push people away. Both of you just push and push until you realise you have no one close when you need help.” Clint frowned.

“I’m not in need of help,” Tony scoffed defensively, “nor have I been often. I manage fine by myself. Also - there is a difference between keeping a safe distance and pushing people away.”

“I’m a freaking sniper, Stark. I always work alone, I know about keeping a distance. But I couldn’t have saved New York without help. Without Natasha, I would be the one destroying it. Without you, who knows what would have happened.We all need help sometimes, and if you don’t realise that, then your ‘safe distance’ is going to get you killed.”

 

Tony gave him a long, dark look, as though he was thinking over the events of the Battle of New York. _Maybe that’s why he doesn’t trust you._

“If I hadn’t been trying to help, a lot of undesirable things could have been avoided.” Tony said eventually, in a flat tone.

“You’re joking, right? No, fuck, you’re actually serious. A lot of undesirable things happened that day Tony, a _lot._ I’d know. But you can’t take the blame for that. Not any of it.” Clint muttered. He was so similar to Natasha sometimes, he just wanted to punch him. “ _Everything_ you do will have good effects and bad effects - whether you like it or not. You just have to make sure the good makes it worth the bad.”

“Sounds kinda selfish.” Tony grumbled. “Except I’m good at being selfish. But I’m no good at… _that_.”

Clint rolled his eyes. _Is it possible to get through to someone so dead set in their beliefs? Well, if you can convince Tony, maybe some day you can convince Tasha…_

“It’s not selfish, Stark, it’s rational. It’s logical. Just like maths.” Clint sighed.

“You scolded me last time I tried to use maths and logic!” Tony whined. _Well he has a point._

“Life is a weird mix of logical and illogical shit and you have to find the balance. If you do everything logically you turn into a robot. If you always act on impulse you become an animal.” Clint ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “Humanity is a fucked up combination of both, you just have to find the equilibrium.

“Robot sounds good.” Tony replied blandly. _Jerk._

“I don’t understand you.” He groaned, dropping his head back against the chair. “You make absolutely no sense. I don’t even get why you’re like this. I mean: Nat’s easy, she was forced to act upon logic and training for years. But you… I got nothing.”

“Join the club,” Tony huffed with a tired glare. “Enough talk about me, though, vain as I am - I do find this wearisome.”“Nope. Not stopping this until you accept that I’m not going to put an arrow through your head. I’m your teammate and I have nothing against you. I don’t want to go in there with you having doubts about me.” He replied flatly, crossing his arms.

“Well I’m going to doubt you regardless, so you better get used to it.”

“Tell me why then.” Clint would never quite get used to working with people. He couldn’t stand when other people had secrets from him. _After this I’m so going back to solo sniping missions so the only people I have to deal with are dead ones._

“I’m predisposed to doubt everything and anything. It’s called critical thinking.” Tony said dryly.

“More like paranoia.” He muttered.

“I am _not_ paranoid!” Tony hissed, hands gripping the sides of his seat. _Oops, hit a sore spot._

“Sure you aren’t,” Clint sighed, flicking one of the arrowheads poking out of the quiver beside his chair.

“I said I was done talking about me, just drop it.” Tony was getting twitchy, and this was not a good way to start a mission.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Sorry.” He raised his hands in surrender, and changed the subject. “So why are all your suits red and gold? I gotta admit I’ve always wondered why you never switch it up.”

“Erm.” Tony blinked in surprise, but went with it. “I guess it’s kind of recognisable now, it’s iconic. Taking away the red would be like Nat dying her hair black or Banner turning into a blue smurf when he gets angsty.”

“Makes sense.” Clint shrugged. It was a lame question, but it diverted the conversation well enough. “Nat looks really weird with black hair, I don’t like it. And I don’t even want to _think_ about Banner singing that damn smurfs song.”

“You’ve seen her with black hair?” Tony pulled a doubtful face.

“I’ve seen her as everything from a blonde French model to a drag queen. She’s got a load of disguises up her sleeve.” He paused for a second. “Don’t tell her I told you about the drag queen one - she’d kill me.”

“I’m not sure if I’m more surprised or scared, honestly. But she was a _greeaaat_ secretary for Stark Industries.”

“She told me you actually impressed her, too, not enough to recommend you for the Avengers Initiative, but enough to respect you. Which is pretty damn hard enough.” Clint pointed out, but the reaction he got from Tony said he didn’t believe it.

“Are you kidding? I’ve read her report. She despised me.” He said with a glare.

“I never said she liked you! Respect and friendship are two _very_ different things to her. But, I dunno, I think you were kind of on your way to winning her over. You’re too similar not to get on.”

“I feel obliged to disagree with you there.” Tony seemed to be tensing up slightly. Maybe Nat had injured him more than he was letting on.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you she could have done a lot worse to you earlier. She’d never admit it, but she went easy on you.”

“I know,” Tony glared at the wall behind Clint. Clint sure did not want to be that wall. “I thought she was going to break my ribs when she hit the Arc Reactor.”

“Are you okay? I uh, never really asked, sorry. Nothings broken, right?” Clint felt slightly guilty for not checking earlier.

“Only my pride, no need to get your feathers all ruffled up.” Tony used humour as a defence mechanism far too often for it to go unnoticed by Clint. But he figured it was best not to point it out.

“Why is it that I always get the brunt of your bird jokes. Sam’s named after a bird too, y’know.” Clint whinged.

“Am I locked in an airtight caring for two hours heading toward certain death with Wilson? No. I am not. And there is no one else I can make fun of. Therefore I am forced to pick on you.” Tony gave a tight smile.

“I’ll have you know that hawks are dangerous, vicious birds of prey.” Clint muttered.

“They’re also endangered.” Tony quipped back with a smirk.

“That just means they’re rare and special!” Clint scowled.

“Alright then, special snowflake. We’re descending.” Tony nodded toward a glass on the table, the water level tilting slightly as the jet angled toward the ground. Clint jumped to his feet, grabbing his bow and quiver from beside him and stepping to the window to scan the snowy Russian landscape below.

“Please remain seated while the aircraft prepares for landing.” Tony said sweetly. Clint shot him a glare, but sat down anyways.

“You’d make a really pretty air stewardess.” Clint gripped his bow tighter as the full impact of what they were heading into weighed on him.

“I’m flattered. Please continue to shower me in compliments for the next few hours so that when I die alone in the snow I’ll know that I’m pretty.” Tony drawled.

 


	41. TONY 0215 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're landing in Russia, and trying their best not to think about what's about to go down because it will not be in the least bit pleasant.

 

Tony checked his phone again as the plane touched down. He frowned slightly at the jolty landing, more so used to flying in his suit where he was in control.

“Her tracker is still on the plane. If she’s noticed it during the flight, she may have placed it on someone else to lead us the wrong way, but I doubt she’ll even know its on her. It was virtually undetectable. I tested the prototype of that model on you a few weeks ago, and it’s still working. I had that one on myself incase I got abducted again or crashed the suit, and I forgot I was wearing it. Either way, it’s best if we get eyes on her as soon as she touches down.”

“You tested a tracker on me!?” Clint shot him an irritated glare, and Tony was impressed by the genuine surprise in the other mans tone. “You can’t do that! Doesn’t that violate human rights or some shit! I don’t want to be tracked!”

“Would informing you of other times I’ve violated your rights be a good thing to do - because I’m being honest - or a bad thing to do - because you can kill me with your bare hands?” Tony grinned nervously, despite his current worries. Barton was a _very_ useful test subject, because he got injured the most, so his equipment could be tested for durability and strength.

“If I find out you have cameras _anywhere near me_ , I will shoot you.” Clint eyes him suspiciously.

“Cameras? No! I’m not that clingy. Only the usual tower surveillance.”

“Dare I ask what else you’ve tested on me?” Clint glanced out at the dark runway as the jet slowed.

“Experimented with your arrows. Set motion sensors on the fridge to figure out who was having midnight snacks. Used trackers, audio recorders and all sorts of bugs. Oh and there was that time I made voice impressions of everyone and used them to change your official file names in the database…” Tony replied nonchalantly with a yawn, remembering the random things he got up to after 72hours without sleep.

“You did _what_ with my arrows?” Clint gaped, he looked offended. That man was terribly possessive over his bow and arrows… “Stark! I could kill you! Don’t even look at my arrows ever again or I will put one through your hand,” he muttered.

“I was improving them! No need to get pissy. Besides, it’s not like you noticed, so whats the big deal?”

“That’s not the point, Tony! What did you do to them?” Clint folded his arms, frowning deeply.

“I was experimenting with placing trackers in the arrowheads in a way that wouldn’t affect trajectory or impact, so that they could plant trackers in a person, without also impaling them with an arrow. No good tracking a dead body. Well…” Tony trailed off, rubbing his jaw.

“Did it… work?” Clint was giving him an odd look which Tony translated to mean: _I want to be pissed off at you but I’m secretly impressed._

“Of course they did, snowflake.” He smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, I never actually use the data from tracking you. I don’t even open the files except to check that it worked. Your secrets are safe from me.”

“Well… I’m willing not to put arrows in your pressure points _if_ you make me some more of them.” Clint said challengingly.

“Blackmail!” Tony screeched in mock horror. “But sure thing, working on them is a good distraction. I’ll make you some when we’re back, after a few cheeseburgers.”

“Whats the deal with cheeseburgers? They’re just like fake proteins and food colouring in a bun.” Clint said in disgust.

“Cheeseburgers are a national delicacy of unhealthy goodness. Better than birdseed and worms.”

“It was _one time_ Stark. Anyways, my Pizza, Chinese takeout and Coffee Diet is going pretty well _without_ added cheeseburgers.”

“I salute your caffeine intake, but surely you know cheeseburgers are a staple in any healthy diet.”

“No. They’re gross, they’re all stodgy and they taste weird and unnatural.” Clint shook his head determinedly.

“Blasphemy.” Tony spat. “I won’t have such heretics aboard my private aircraft.”

“Whatever, we’re about to get off anyways.” Clint stood again, stretching out his limbs with audible cracking noises. Tony’s phone buzzed and he checked it to see a text from Pepper.

“Natasha’s plane lands at Terminal Five in 10 minutes. It’s on the other side of the airport, but we can leg it.” Tony informed him.

“I’d say lets try not to make a scene… but this involves you and Nat. Between the two of you, there’s no hope for subtlety.”

“I’m not getting the suit out indoors. I don’t want a scene either.” Tony drummed his fingers against his knee, waiting for the jet to finish taxiing so they could disembark and start running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually admire the coffee intake of these two. They could drink me under the table with caffeinated beverages. 
> 
> I feel like these two hardly sleep for multiple reasons (nightmares, work, injuries) and so coffee is a lifeblood for them.
> 
> I reckon peoples poison of choice says a lot about them...
> 
> Steve just drinks pure happiness.  
> Bruce probably drinks green tea or something.  
> Pepper would drink some health smoothie.  
> Thor would try anything.  
> Fury probably drinks agent tears.  
> Wilson probably drinks water cus he's the only normal one.  
> I don't think Bucky even eats or drinks tbh. He'd be too accustomed to an NGT to be able to stomach normal stuff for a while. Besides plums.  
> Peter probably drinks apple juice or something.  
> Wade... capri suns.
> 
> Feel free to add to/improve my list ^


	42. CLINT 0220 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Airport chase. Can they get to her before she disappears into her homeland?

 

As soon as the movement of the plane stilled, Clint was at the door, hardly waiting for the stairs to be lined up before he leaped to the tarmac, Tony following wordlessly behind him. They entered the airport at ground level, passing terminal two and three quickly. As they were pushing through terminal four, Clint noticed a large crowd of Americans filing towards them. The New York flight had landed. She would be hiding in that crowd somewhere. He turned to Tony, and they shared an unspoken agreement, branching in opposite directions to circle the group of approaching travellers. His advanced vision scanned the sea of faces easily, and within seconds he had spotted her, blending in almost perfectly. A breath of relief flowed through him, but he ignored it, focusing on the task ahead. His eyes flicked back to Tony, who had also noticed her and was already making his way toward her. Tony was closer, and from the way Natasha was slowly altering her pace, Clint knew she had spotted the other man. So he made use of his still unknown presence to weave quickly past the crowd and position himself a few metres behind her.

 

Just ahead of him, she froze, and he could almost sense the gears ticking in her brain as she reacted. _Fight or flight, Tasha?_

She chose flight. Turning quickly and bolting away from Tony, bawling straight into Clint. She sprang backwards, glaring at him wildly.

“Tasha,” he took a careful, calculated step toward her, speaking firmly. “Don’t do this.”

“Take Stark and get out of the country, Barton.” She snapped, eyes darting around as she tried to find a gap in the crowds. When Clint didn’t move she balled her fists and took another step. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

“We’re not going back without you.” Tony said, stepping up behind her. “If I have to drag you home by your precious red curls then so be it.”

“Natasha. Please. I won’t go back until I have you with me, you can’t go after Seraf-“

“Say that name again and you will _wish_ I had the guts to give you a merciful death first.” She interrupted him, grabbing his collar and pushing his back against a column. She glared at him, her face inches from his, before dropping her arm and stepping smoothly away.

“You should drag each other out while you still have a chance.” She said, as she went to push past Tony. He lunged to her and gripped her arm tightly.

“Get it through your thick head that we care about you. If you care about us, you’ll follow us back to the jet.” Tony said sternly as he struggled to keep his grip on her.

“Let me go, Stark,” she hissed quietly, “Or I will cause a scene.”

 

Clint pushed himself off the wall. “We’re already causing a scene, Tasha. And I won’t- I _can’t_ leave you here to die.”

“Feathers is right. We aren’t ditching you here.” Tony tightened his grip on her, steering her back toward him.

“You’ll get over it,” she snapped, wrecking her arms out of Tony’s grip with a sharp twist and side stepping Clint. “If you now what’s good for you, don’t follow me.” She said blankly. And then she ran.

 

She ducked and dived between people, using her small frame and light feet to put some distance between them. She even knocked some suitcases behind her to slow them down, but Clint was just as agile, and jumped easily after her, skidding around people and gaining on her with every step of his longer legs. Tony was running just behind him, using his larger form to just knock past people.

“Nat!” Clint yelled, not caring who heard. “Tasha, please! Stop this before you get killed!”

“This won’t ever stop, Barton. And I’m not having you or Stark go down with me.” She kicked a luggage trolley toward him, and it collided with his shins. He pitched forward, cursing as he hit the ground roughly before rolling back to his feet and continuing after her.

 

Tony was still carrying the portable suit in the condensed suitcase. Clint spotted it in the corner of his vision a split second before it skidded past his feet, sliding smoothly across the carpet to take Natasha’s legs out from under her. She landed hard on her backside, flinging herself straight into a backwards handspring and back onto her feet. She was running again within seconds, but it had slowed her down long enough for Clint and Tony to catch up.

Tony threw himself at her, tackling her to the ground and pinning her beneath him.

“Romanov. Be reasonable.” He sighed with a tone that made Clint realise that maybe the genius cared more than he was letting on.

“C’mon, Nat, let’s just talk this out. Please.”

“We’re drawing too much attention. You boys need to let me go.” She managed to throw Tony off of her, but Clint quickly dropped into his position, keeping her trapped.

“I may be an Avenger, Natasha, but I don’t want to avenge your death. Not now. Not ever.” He said quietly, relieved to be holding her safely in his arms, but hating the force he was having to exert against her. Anger flashed across her expression at his words, and she launched herself upwards, fists hitting him uselessly as he refused to loosen his grip.

“You wouldn’t dare avenge me. You can’t ever go _near_ them. DOn’t you know what they would do to you? I don’t care whats going on with your head, but there is no way you are _ever_ going near _him_.” She spat, not even uttering the name of the man who had hurt her so deeply. Clint shoved her back against the ground.

“Hey. I don’t want to go near that place anymore than you want me to, but where you go I go.” He stared determinedly into her eyes.

“Don’t you realise this isn’t safe for you? You two need to get as far away from here as possible before they drag you into this mess.”

“Safer for me? Safer for Clint?” Tony snapped. “What about what’s safe for you?”

 

Clint knew what she was gong to say, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. She slumped slightly under his grip, flicking her gaze to Tony.

“My safety isn’t important, Tony, stop acting like it is. Your lives are far more valuable and deserving. The priority here is to keep both of you safe, and the only solution is to remove myself from your environment entirely.” The conviction in her voice was so absolute, Clint knew it wasn’t part of a mask. Her acting skills were amazing, but this was what she honestly believed, no lies, no tricks.

“Natasha, just listen to us, won’t you. We just want to help you here.” Tony ran a hand across his face. “We can all get through this together, but not until you want to co-operate.”

“When you recruited me, you told me it wouldn’t be like the Red Room. That I would be free to make my own decisions. That I could always leave if I changed my mind.” She said quietly, looking into Clint’s eyes with a desperation that made his stomach drop. _How could she ever compare us to… that._

“Tash-“he choked out, but he couldn’t form any more words, his mind constricting itself. _Have I treated her that badly? Was this really no better than The Room? I wanted her to feel valid here, not trapped._

“How dare you.” Tony hissed, crouching beside them so he could grab her shoulder viciously. “You know how much he cares about you, yet you go guilt tripping him like that? Running back to what he pulled you out of? I thought _I_ was selfish, but this here… this is worse.”

“Of course I know he cares.” She said blankly, and Clint cringed inwardly at the offhanded way she referred to him like he wasn’t right there holding her. “All my options are relatively selfish except the one I don’t have the guts for. Barton knows that.”

 

Her cool words dripped ice through him and he tightened his grip on her arms. His eyes flicked up to hers sharply, gut clenching at the weight of what she was saying.

“Tasha.” Clint dropped his chin to his chest, taking a deep breath. “Natasha please, come with us. Come home.”

She stilled for a moment, and he knew she was considering every possibility. Eventually her shoulders slumped.

“Fine. But it’s nearly 3AM. We can wait at my safe house and fly back at a more reasonable time. We all need rest, and we can’t wait here.” She said levelly, in a tone that suggested there was something she wasn’t saying. But she wasn’t fighting anymore, and that was good enough for him.

Clint stood quickly, extending a hand to help her up, relieved when she didn’t immediately run. She ignored his hand, standing slowly, and gesturing for them to follow her before she stalked toward the nearest exit. Tony gave him an inquiring look, and Clint shrugged back in response. The sudden change in plans was uncharacteristic for Natasha, but still better than her trying to run.

 


	43. NATASHA 0300 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha makes plans for how to fix this awful situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a terrible time so didn't get to proofread this. Sorry if there's any errors, do let me know in the comments if you pick up on any typos etc, I will fix them ASAP.
> 
> :)

 

Natasha was seething. When she left America she thought that her friends would finally be safe. That Clint would finally be free of her and that she could finally stop running from everything she thought or felt. But of course not. They went and followed her into the jaws of death. Typical. She kept her face blank as she walked briskly out of the airport, hardly flinching when the freezing cold air surrounded them. She finally turned back to face them.

“It’s a fifteen minute walk. We aren’t taking a cab. Rule one - don’t trust anyone here, or you will end up dead.” She turned and began walking again.

“We can make it in ten.” Clint said, speeding up so he could walk beside her. She glanced over at him, surprised. After what she had said earlier, she had expected him to want to keep his distance. She paused, pulling off her outer coat and tossing it toward Tony.

“You’re the most recognisable of us. Put that on and pull up the hood.” She said blandly, focussing ahead again without slowing her pace.

“Fine,” he said, pulling off his own jacket and tossing it a her. “But you wear mine so you don’t freeze.” He pulled her jacket on and raised the hood.

“I was trained out here. They made us run miles in the snow in a t-shirt, Stark. I’ll be fine.” She said with a scoff as she caught his jacket. Noticing that Clint was only in one of his annoying sleeveless vests, she held it out toward him, not meeting his eyes. He eyed it in surprise for a moment before taking it.

“Thank you.” He slipped it on. “Ugh, smells like egotistical billionaire.”

Natasha bit back the smile that threatened to show as she continued walking, crossing her arms across her chest. Now only in a thin sports jacket, se was beginning to feel the chill.

“You’re welcome. By the way, Stark, if you dare putting the location of my safe house into any of your systems or databases I _will_ make you regret it.”

Clint and Tony shared an odd look, and Natasha narrowed her eyes at them, sensing something was off.

“What?” She snapped.

“I should probably, um, remove the micro tracker I placed on you yesterday…” Tony admitted. _Micro tracker?_

“You tracked me!?” She glared at him before desperately patting down her clothes, trying to find it. Not like she hadn’t checked several times in the last few hours. “What the _hell_ Stark? When did you put it on me? And where? I checked!”

“Bastard tested it on me too, I didn’t find it either.” Clint sighed. “Tony, get rid of it.”

“I knew shit was going down when I got you out of the cell. I pinned it on you when you were dragging me around, talking about poisoning Pepper.” Tony smirked and she wanted so much to punch him. She froze as he stepped over, glaring daggers into his hands as he carefully took the lapel of her jacket and pulled a minuscule black pin out of it. “Speaking of which…”

She eyed the pin curiously as he snapped it in two and dropped it into the snow. She was secretly impressed by his quick thinking.

“I didn’t poison her, Tony. But I’m guessing Barton already told you that.” Natasha said, meeting his eyes.

“He might have mentioned something like that.” He replied in a tone that made her realise he didn’t believe it in the slightest. “How did you get out of the cell?”

“I didn’t, Stark. I swear. It wasn’t me.” She said sincerely, realising once again that there was a larger problem here.

“Right. Totally.” He growled. “Enlighten me then - who else could have done it? Sleeping pills in her lunch, knocked her out for just over an hour. Just like the pancakes. It’s got your name written all over it. “

“Stark… put a line through to Rhodes and tell him to keep an eye on the tower. I don’t do things the same way twice. Some who has access to the tower and _knew_ what I did replicated it to frame me. Someone is watching us.” Her expression darkened and she tried to ignore the guilt that was building inside her, because she was 99% sure of who that someone would be.

 

Tony’s face fell, and he stepped away quickly to make a call. She was putting everyone at risk. This is why she needed to leave. She turned down a street of large, modern houses. Each identical to the one next to it. The perfect place to blend in.

“We’re here.” She said blandly, stepping up to a sleek white building. She opened a panel beside the door, scanning her thumb on the hidden sensor. The door clicked open and she stepped inside quickly, deactivating the alarms, and beginning to scan each room for bugs. She hated this place with a passion. Being so close to the airport, and the Room, it was the last place anyone would think of looking for her, but it was still too close for her to feel comfortable. Tony was looking around with interest, being the intrusive sticky-beak he always was.

“It doesn’t look like you come here much. It’s so… empty.” He was probably used to ostentatious decor rather than just white walls.

“I have it because it’s necessary. I only come here when I have no where else. Its not a home, its a strategic, practical base of operations.” She muttered.

“So where is home, then, Tasha?” Clint asked softly. “If its the Tower, then why don’t you want to come back?”

She ignored him, turning to Tony instead.

“Don’t think that just because I let you in to my safe house that we’re all good. I’m still furious at both of you for even being here.” She crossed her arms.

“Well what were you expecting? We’re a team, Natasha. Ohana and all. Just be thankful we didn’t drag Rogers with us.” Tony stared at a chair suspiciously for a second before sitting down.

“Just because you don’t give a shit about my past, doesn’t mean my past doesn’t give a shit about you. If any of Them find out that you guys care about me, or that I ca-“ She narrowed her eyes, _close one._ “Look. These people will do whatever they can to destroy everything that matters to me. I feel bad enough as it is, but if either of you got hurt…” She groaned, giving up on trying to convince them. Stepping up to the cupboard she retrieved a bottle of Russian vodka before moving to sit opposite Tony. After a moment, Clint joined her. _Distance, Natalia._ She stood again, opening drawers and cupboards to search through the stacks of long life rationed food she had stored. She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want to be facing them.

“Clint. Go down the hall. Theres a safe in the wall on the right. Passcode is the mission number from Budapest. I stole your knives, so you can borrow some of mine.” She knew he would have spares, but she needed a moment alone with Tony.

Clint remained still and silent, offering no sign of having heard her request. After a moment he sighed, stood, and walked promptly from the room.

“Promise me you’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything rash or stupid. Tony, please.” She kept her features neutral, not allowing the pleading tone of her words to show in her voice.

“Stop talking like you aren’t going to be around.” Tony replied with an equally neutral expression.

“I promise I’ll try to stay alive,” she lied. She’d been lying so much lately, she almost couldn’t tell what was the truth anymore. “So long as you make sure he doesn’t die either. Okay?”

“Get it through your head that we aren’t leaving.” Tony wrung his hands, staring at a spot just above her head. “I know you’re dangerous. We all are. But I’d rather die fighting with part of my team than crawl back to the tower alone and wallow in guilt knowing that I could have saved you!”

 

Natasha glared at him cooly. _Stay calm, don’t snap. Don’t let your emotions show._ She opened the bottle and took a long sip, glad to have a different sensation to focus her mind of for a brief second as it burned down her throat. She took a breath.

“Why do you have to be so _bloody_ impossible?” She hissed in frustration.

“I’d ask the same of you,” Clint called from the doorway, where he was casually inspecting his new knives as though he hadn’t been listening the whole time but _of course he had been listening._

“Book the first flight back to America tomorrow.” She tossed a burner phone at Stark. “If you can get my sorry ass to the airport, I won’t try and resist boarding that plane with you. Theres something messy happening around the tower, and thats where you need to be focussing on.” _I won’t resist boarding the plane, because I probably won’t be alive by then…_ “But unlike the two of you and your luxury private jet, I had to put up with screaming babies the whole way here, so I’m going to bed.”

She turned, stalking up the stairs to the bedroom.

 


	44. CLINT 0345 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tony are couch surfing. Which puts them in the perfect position to hear everything thats happening in the safe house.

“I call bullshit.” Clint said as soon as she was out of sight. _As if she would just come back with them that easily._

“I agree.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s not going to put this off any longer, it’s already the second time she’s come back here. She wouldn’t dare go for a third.”

“What do we do?” Clint sighed, throwing himself on the couch.”

“Make ourselves comfortable, and be ready to follow her when she tries to make a move.” Tony stated resignedly.

Clint groaned, throwing his head back to glare at the ceiling as he spun her daggers between his fingers.

“I hate her.” He muttered, his tone severely lacking conviction.

“I don’t believe you.” Tony sprawled across the armchair, raising an eyebrow at him.

“She’s annoyingly arrogant in her beliefs and frustratingly stubborn and so so infuriating oblivious!” Clint protested, pulling his quiver and bow off his back and setting them beside him as he melted further into the couch. _Maybe I can just sink so far into the couch that I’ll stop existing. That would be nice._ Tony yawned blearily, but set his face again when Clint glanced over to him, trying to hide his exhaustion. _You can’t hide from me, Stark. Only Nat can do that._

“Take a nap. I’ll wake you up if she tries anything.” Clint offered. Tony scoffed, sitting up straighter.

“Me? Sleep? Here? I can hardly relax in a familiar bed, let alone in Russia with two ex killers.” He grumbled. _Ouch._

“Glad to see you have so much faith in me, Stark,” Clint replied with a sigh. “For what it counts, neither of us are going to kill you. Especially not in your sleep, we do have morals.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said under his breath as he shut his eyes despite himself. “All I meant is I’m a paranoid freak.”

“We’re all freaks. That’s why we’re avengers or some shit. Freaks united.”

“Ssshhh… Genius trying to sleep.” Tony grumbled, curling into himself on the armchair. Clint was slightly surprised, allowing an eyebrow to quirk upwards with a small smirk. Well, even if Tony didn’t sleep, a bit of a relax wouldn’t hurt. So he stayed quiet, falling into his sniper tendencies.

 

* * *

 

 

Clint stayed perfectly still and unassuming, but was on high alert the whole time. Noticing every time the other man woke from his light sleep, freezing in place and glancing around the unfamiliar room with his hands clenched before nodding off again. The safe house was in a painfully fragile silence, which made the waiting even worse. Not that he wasn’t used to silence. Or waiting. He was tempted to distract himself by following one of his many chains of thoughts, but knew that he had to be paying full attention to the silence upstairs if he wanted to catch Natasha trying to sneak out. He knew she would. Even if she didn’t.

“Do you know how creepy you are?” Tony hissed quietly, waking up to see Barton staring intently at him. Clint shook himself out of his thoughts, focusing on the man in front of him.

“Sorry, it’s a force of habit.” He willed his body to relax, but stiffened again when he heard the slightest movement upstairs. “Sleep. Now.” He whispered, slumping onto the chair and shutting his eyes. He heard Tony go still across from him. He knew Tony wouldn’t have possibly heard anything, but luckily the other man seemed to trust his judgement enough.

 

Clint knew Natasha. He knew that she always made sure the floorboards were loose enough to creak, and the windowsills grated and the locks on the doors clicked slightly when opened. He knew that she did this so she would always be aware if someone was sneaking into her house. He knew that this was the only reason he was able to catch her sneaking out. Keeping his eyes shut and his breathing shallow and slow, he hardly felt the brush of air as she slipped silently past him. He only just managed to hear the creak of her padded footfalls on the unworn wooden floors. When he heard the second door click softly back into place, he sat up instantly, fists clenched.

“Time to move, Stark.” He stood swiftly, grabbing his bow and quiver and following her path to the front door. Tony sat forward with a confused scowl, glancing around oblivious to the fact that a third person had just been in the room.

“Sneaky little minx. How did she manage that?” He muttered under his breath, standing and grabbing his portable suit from where he had left it against the wall. “We got a game plan?”

“Not a clue. She’s going to try and infiltrate whatever base it is. She has the advantage of knowing the location, and knowing the fighting style of who she’s up against.” He stood by the front door, waiting for a moment. He had begun counting the moment she had stepped outside, and was waiting 300 seconds before he followed after her, to ensure she didn’t catch onto her tails straight away.

“Right so… not only do we have to avoid getting caught by the nasties she’s going after, we also have to avoid being caught by her and starting another domestic?” Tony hovered beside him, running a hand through his hair.

“I never intended to drag you into something this big, Stark. If you want to go back to New York or hang here until I pull her out, you can. I won’t blame you.” Clint didn’t know which he would prefer. Obviously having someone to watch his back would be appreciated, but he didn’t want to be responsible for Tony getting hurt.

“I’ve been called many things. Coward is not one of them.” The other man replied firmly. “Well actually, people call me a coward all the time. But lets prove them wrong.”

“Let’s go then,” Clint opened the door, stepping out into the cold. Tony moved to follow him then paused.

“This would be a lot easier if I could just suit up and fly us there…but I’m guessing that won’t be discrete enough for you, will it?” Stark said with a sigh, staring out at the dark snowy night.

“No. Stark, _no._ You literally pointed out thirty seconds ago that we have a lot of dangerous people to avoid.” A harsh chill ran down Clint’s spine, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the weather, or from realising that the person he was chasing was possibly the most dangerous out of anyone he had ever faced.

“Good point,” Tony frowned and started muttering under his breath about just wearing the boots so he could walk easier.

“Stop trying to find a away around it, and let’s get going before the snow covers her tracks and we loose her.”

“Lead the way then, feathers.” Tony said with a nod, stepping out into the snow and letting the door shut behind him.

 

 


	45. NATASHA 0450 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha pays her old friends a visit.
> 
> Wait did I said friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I was in a really bad mood when I wrote this scene up today so basically it might be a bit violent... ooops?
> 
> I dunno I've never written anything very action-based before, so this is probably awful. 
> 
> Point is this is a fight scene that lacks mercy.

Natasha ran across the snow, deftly avoiding sinking her footprints too much into the soft terrain as she gracefully sped lightly away from the safe house. There was a slight pang in her chest at lying to them and leaving them behind, knowing that she’d resign them to guilt, and that when Clint woke up and she was gone… _don’t get distracted, Natalia. Now is not the time._  
****

Weighing it out, she resolved that guilt is better than death, and death is far better than torture, so this was by far the best option for all of them. She could deal with torture if she knew it was only her getting hurt. At least her ~~friends~~ colleagues were out of harms way.

 

She reached the warehouse, slowing down to circle the property, noting that it was heavily guarded. No surprise there. Serafeim was always prepared, wether he knew she was coming back or not, he would be ready for her. She realised that maybe pulling her stitches out was a dumb move. Hindsight was a beautiful thing. However the wounds on her abdomen were far from it. That was the least of her problems however, as a guard had just turned toward her and was slowly reaching for his gun. _So it begins._

 

She drew a boot knife from it’s place on her calf and flicked it easily toward him, pinning his hand to his thigh just short of the gun he was reaching for. He opened his mouth to yell but she shut it just as quickly with a roundhouse kick to the underside of his jaw, knocking him to the ground. She pulled the blade from his unconscious form and brought her boot down on his throat, crushing his windpipe, before continuing onwards.

She slipped through the double doors at the back of the building into a brightly lit corridor. Natasha resisted squinting against it, keeping herself completely still as she took in the crowd of guards waiting on the other side of the door, guns trained on her.

“Hello boys. Did you miss me?” She flicked her eyes over them all quickly. Twelve guards. Eighteen guns. Five knives. This would be child’s play. They likely had orders not to kill her anyways, so she just had to avoid being knocked out.

Natasha Romanov shut her eyes and the Black Widow opened them.

She smiled darkly and chose her first target.

Yanking two gravity knives from her belt, she dove forward, lashing her arms to the side to cut through the achilles tendons of the two nearest guards, flinging the knives upward and she rolled to her feet. The blades sank through the exposed throats of two of the men above her and she caught the guns that feel from their limp fingers.

_Two down, ten to go._

No longer bothering to stay subtle, she emptied all eighteen rounds of the two glocks into the skulls of the next four guards, then tossed the empty guns behind her.

_Halfway done._

Now she was close enough to them that she knew they wouldn’t bother with guns. Time to get her hands dirty.

The Black Widow didn’t wait for one of the guards to make a move. Her leg snapped out quickly in a roundhouse kick to the chest of the nearest man. She connected her elbow with his temple, and shoved him roughly backwards as he eyes fell shut. The unconscious guard crashed into the one behind him, buying her a spare three seconds to block an incoming punch and kicking a knife out of the guards hand. She threw herself onto him, arms wrapping around his neck as she spun him into a headlock and tipped her weight backwards until she heard the satisfying snap. She moved immediately onto the ninth guard, following a push kick with a hammer fist, and then pulling the knife from his belt and sinking it between his ribs for good measure.

She ran at the nearest wall, stepping up onto it and propelling herself backwards, twisting in mid air to catch the head of the guard below her. She snapped his neck as she flipped over him, bringing him down below her to cushion her landing. She loosened her grip in his hair and jumped back to her feet. Feigning a left uppercut, she instead swung her fist around in a right hook, feeling teeth dislodge under her knuckles. She finished him off with an axe kick, waiting until she heard the thud of his body against the ground before raising an eyebrow at the last standing guard. He balled his hands and went to throw a punch, but she pulled her gun from her thigh holster and shot him between the eyes before he managed to draw his fist back. She paused to catch her breath, glaring at the still bodies on the floor.

“Yeah, I didn’t miss you either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> just a little character development thingy I've been adding...  
> whenever Natasha talks to herself, or criticises her actions or whatever, she refers to herself as 'Natalia,' because it's so ingrained in her. 
> 
> For years she was instructed and corrected and punished under the name 'Natalia,' so now whenever she makes a mistake, she automatically slips back to that mindset, and its like one of her handlers is speaking in her head, correcting her moves.
> 
> But she's working on it. Because she is no longer Natalia Romanova. She is no longer a weapon without a choice.


	46. TONY 0500 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach the compound, and it's pretty evident that Natasha has been here before them.

 

Tony stared at the unmarred snowy road with a frown. There weren’t even footprints to show which way she had gone. And he’d taken the tracker off her. _Damn it._ He turned to Clint to question what they should do, noticing the other mans eyes fixated on the ground at their feet.

“She’s good.” Clint said with a repressed smirk. “I’m better.” He lead the way, walking swiftly, eyes fixed on something in the snow that Tony couldn’t make out. They walked in silence for twenty minutes which seemed to never end but was over far too quickly at the same time. They slowed when the barbed fencing appeared, circling a large warehouse.

“This must be it.” Clint said, staring hollowly at the building. Tony didn’t even want to think about what sort of stuff went on in there.

They followed the perimeter until Clint was satisfied with the best point to enter from.

“Two guards left on the floor, one on the roof, probably more around that corner. She’s gotten rid of most of them already. You ready for this?” Clint said as he scanned their surroundings. Tony just nodded, not trusting his voice.

“We need to take them all out before one sounds an alarm. You go left, I’ll go right.” Clint said, jumping swiftly up onto the chain link fence and easily skimming over the top of it without catching the sharp wire. He landed soundlessly on the other side and ducked quickly behind a steel drum, turning to wait as Tony climbed after him. Tony tossed the suitcase suit over the fence, and Clint stepped forward to catch it, grunting in slight surprise at how heavy the compact case was. Tony got over the fence easily enough, but with no where near the amount of grace and ease the archer had shown. He took the case back from Clint, crouching behind the steel drum next to him. Clint peered around the edge once more, before looking back to Tony and nodding solemnly.

They stood in unison, stepping in opposite directions. Clint fired arrows in quick succession, rolling to cover behind a large crate, as Tony snuck quietly toward a silhouette against the wall. Just as Tony was about to lunge at the man infront of him, an arrow sank into the mans back and he dropped to the ground. Tony whipped around to see Clint lowering his bow.

“Far out.” He hissed, noting the other four bodies littering the ground, arrows poking up out of their backs. Clint shrugged bashfully as he hurried around to reclaim his arrows. Tony flipped the man infront of him over, and snatched the security card from his jacket. They approached the nearest door, and Tony swiped the card, tensing as they waited to see if any alarms sounded. The doors slid open without delay, revealing a corridor full of bodies.

_Oh._

Clint blinked once, but otherwise seemed unfazed, stepping forward into the hallway. Tony swore softly under his breath, stepping after him into the eerie silence. Clint walked quickly down the corridor, and Tony kept his eyes on the back of the other mans head, to avoid looking at the countless bodies he was stepping over. Clint stopped suddenly, and Tony froze behind him, peering out to see what he was looking at.

“Follow the breadcrumbs, right?” Clint said in an eerie tone. The corridor branched into two doorways, but the signs of Natasha’s handiwork only continued to the left, so they went that way.

“Sure thing, but you’re Gretel.” Tony smirked slightly, despite the dark atmosphere. _Who’d of thought there’d be a day where breadcrumbs and bodies were synonymous?_

“You’re just jealous that I’m prettier than you.” Clint visibly tightened his grip on his bow as the lighting flickered slightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the poster boy of handsomeness.” Tony shot back, slowing slightly until the lights became steady again. They reached another junction where the corridor spilt. This time with no breadcrumbs.

“Okay, now what?” Clint flicked his eyes between the two identical options.

“If we were in a horror movie, we’d split up. But I’d prefer not to be tortured by unrealistic CGI aliens so hows about we flip a coin?” Tony suggested grimly. Clint paused, inclining his head slightly to give Tony an odd look.

“I might be fairly prepared for a lot of weird situations, but I don’t have a coin with me _here_ , Stark.”

“What the shit, Barton?” Tony shook his head in disappointment, pulling a dollar out of his pocket. “Heads, left. Tails, right.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “I assumed as a billionaire, you wouldn’t bother with small change.”

Tony sheepishly mumbled something about vending machines before flipping the coin. “Heads.” He walked to the left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do American's have dollar coins? If not what do you people use? Fifties? I know I could look this up but I really can not be bothered.


	47. NATASHA 0550 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha finds the monster in the centre of the maze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know that moment when you're about to enter a room in a video game and it automatically saves, and you suddenly realise you're about to enter a boss fight...
> 
> this is that moment.

 

Natasha retrieved Clint’s throwing knives, and grabbed two of the discarded guns, before stepping away from the pile of bodies she had left behind her, glancing down to check herself for injuries. Other than a few bruises and a nasty gash to her arm, she’s didn’t note any significant damage. She went to tighten her pony tail and felt a warm trickle of blood on the back of her neck. She hadn’t even noticed the head injury, which was never a good sign. _Clint would be so pissed._ She shook her head to clear her mind. _Focus, Natalia. No time to think about that silly archer with no self preservation, and bad taste for cold pizza, and those damn eyes that notice everything._ She stilled, taking a breath. She was not going to allow herself to become compromised by him of all people. Her teachers would be disappointed at how weak she had become. She pulled herself back into focus just in time to notice a shadow lingering by the corner she was approaching.

 

She slowed her silent footsteps, drawing one of the knives and hugging the wall as she crept closer. She stepped around the corner and dragged the blade across the guards throat before he even had time to widen his eyes in fear. She watched the blood pour across her hand and realised that maybe her hair wasn’t the only reason people used to call her ‘Red’.

 

She reached another set of doors and stepped quickly though them, disappointed to find a large, empty room. He was playing with her. Drawing her around in circles in a sadistic game of cat and mouse.

 _“_ Come out and face me, Kir!” She yelled in frustration. “I came back for you, now come out and fight me like a man!”

“My dear Natalia.” A familiar voice crooned. “You must know by now that I am more than just man.”

She spun around, trying to find the source of his voice.

“You’re not a man, you’re a serpent. Show yourself, you bastard!”

“Ah, Romanova. My little spider. Did we never teach you patience? Foolish girl, Natalia. You should know better than so speak to your master like that.” The Russian voice came again, filling the empty room.

“My name is Natasha. And you don’t own me, Serafeim. Not anymore.” She growled, circling the room to try and find him.

“You can change your name, but you cannot change who you are. You are my Widow, and you will always come running back to me, Natalia.”

“It’s Natasha!” She yelled, passing the door again and cursing when she realised it had locked behind her. She was trapped. With _him._

“Did your American boyfriend give you that name, spider? Is that why we speak in their tongue? Conversing in English like those filthy Americans? Speaking of Americans, where are you friends, Natalia? The hawk-boy and the tin-man who were with you at the airport. They are nearby, surely. They want to own you the way I own you.” The heavily accented voice reverberated around her, and she cringed inwardly at the memories it brought.

“I don’t have friends, Kir. Those assholes had their agenda and I had mine. This is between you and me.” She hoped if she could convince him that she hated them, he wouldn’t bother going after them once she was gone.

“Little spider, I made you who you are. I built you up, and I can destroy you just as easily.”

“Then get down here and fucking do it!” She screeched, pacing around the empty room again. 

“Silly little girl. I want you alive. You were always my best fighter. You have come back to the nest and I will use you again just like before.”

“I’ll shoot myself before I let you lay a hand on me, you filthy monster.”

“You’re playing with fire, Natalia. Don’t you remember the last time you got burnt?” The voice was a lot closer now, and she spun around to see him standing behind her. Kir Serafeim in all his dark glory, smirking in a deep red suit, his smile a tortured gash in his scarred face. The smug bastard wasn’t even armed. His ringed fingers were forming a temple in front of him, hands that had caused so much pain resting lazily against each other. He smiled widely, baring his teeth in a dissolute and depraved grin.

“Welcome home, my little flame.”

Her body reacted faster than her mind, and one of Clint’s knives spun through the air toward him. He ducked his head to the side ever so slightly, barely blinking as the knife passed within millimetres of his face.

“Natalia,” he smirked wider at her scowl. “That is not how you greet an old friend. Was I not like family to you? Bringing you in when you had no one left. Teaching you all that I knew. Convincing Ivan to keep you even when your stubbornness got you in trouble. I must remember to give you another lesson in manners and discipline, foolish spider. But first, if you so desire, we shall fight.”

She whipped a gun from her holster and trained it on his forehead, stepping slowly toward him. “I owe you _nothing._ I am here to kill you and to erase your name from my life. So _shut up,_ and fight back!”

“I’m unarmed. So why don’t we do this the way I trained you? Or do you not have what it takes to fight me hand-to-hand?” He leered.

She narrowed her eyes, but dropped the gun to the floor. After a moments hesitation, she pulled all her blades from their hidden spots against her skin, dropping them to the floor one by one. The loud clang of metal on concrete rang our through the empty room. She tossed the other gun down beside them, and even removed her widow bites to add to the pile at her feet. She stepped forward and fell into fighting stance. Serafeim smirked wickedly, pulling off his jacket and letting it join her weapons on the floor.

“Time to dance, Natalia.”


	48. TONY 0615 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally catch up with Natasha... but are they too late?  
> Tony hangs back to buy them some time while Clint goes in to find out.

 

The eerie silence of the endless corridors was broken by a familiar yell. Clint tensed when they heard Natasha calling out, meeting Tony’s eyes with a worried stare. _At least she’s still alive._ They hurried down the corridor and paused outside the thick metals doors. Natasha’s angry words rang through again, followed by a smug Russian voice that Tony didn’t recognise. From the chills that went down his spine, and from the way Clint gritted his teeth, Tony knew that must be The Serpent in there with Natasha. _Great._

Clint tried the door with no luck, and went to level a gun at the lock before Tony stopped him.

“Wait. They still don’t even know that we are here. If we shoot the door down, we’ll blow our cover. The longer Nat isn’t distracted by us, the better. Let’s see if we can find another way in first.” Tony turned back to face the corridor they had just been through, scanning the walls for any signs of a passageway, eyes locking onto an air vent high up in the wall. The suitcase suit wouldn’t fit through… he would have to leave it behind. He could live without the suit… but Tony wasn’t sure he could live with crawling through an air vent. Luckily for him, he happened to know from the trackers he’d placed, that Clint was quite comfortable with confined spaces. He turned to the other man with a smirk.

“Time to fly, bird boy.” He pointed toward the vent, and Clint nodded.

“I’ll go through and assess the situation and unlock the door. I can create a distraction, Nat kills the freak, you step in and bail us all out.” Clint walked over and stopped directly under the vent. “Gimme a boost?”

Tony linked his fingers, holding his hands out for Clint to step up onto. “If I can hear you both dying, I’m suiting up and blasting my way in.”

“Thanks, I guess. But you know… I was kind hoping it would go better than that. Pretty sure Nat is the only one whos going to try to kill me.” Clint balanced a foot in Tony’s hands, and he boosted him up so that he could grab the edge of the vent cover. Tony held him steady as he used the back of a knife to unscrew the grating. When the cover was loose enough, he tugged it off and tossed it to the ground behind them, hauling himself up into the small space. He stuck his head back out to look down at Tony for a moment.

“Hey, Stark… thanks for coming with me to get her… sorry for getting you caught up in this mess.” The archer frowned.

“No problem, Hawk-guy. But don’t talk like you aren’t gonna see me again in twenty minutes. It makes me feel uneasy. Go get your girl.” Tony rolled his eyes, stepping away.

“Whatever, genius. See you on the other side.” He called back as he disappeared into the vent.

Tony headed back to the double doors, trying not to think about if he would ever see his teammates alive again. He picked the suitcase suit back up and activated it, allowing the familiar metal to envelop him and a sense of calm to settle around him. He aimed his repulsers at the door, and waited.


	49. CLINT 0630 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist: everything goes to plan.
> 
> But had someone else been planning everything?

 

Clint didn’t like these air vents. There was something deeply wrong about the air that filtered through them. Like every breath he took made him feel less oxygenated. Almost as though someone had crawled through them before him, leaving dark thoughts at every bend, and infecting the steely silence. He could almost taste the way countless girl’s screams would have echoed through the walls, amplified by the hollow emptiness of the ventilation shafts. He focused on crawling forward silently, hands melting into the cold metal, knee’s shuffling noiselessly along. The deafening stillness was broken every few minutes by one of the angry voices below, and he tried to tune out their words, because they really weren’t making him feel better about the whole situation. He saw some light leaking through to his right, so turned down an intersecting passageway and headed toward the ventilation cover.

 

He paused over it, staring down into the room below him. He was relieved to see Natasha mostly okay looking, save a few injuries, circling around a man who could only be the one who started all of this. The man that Clint had hated for years, the influence that he had loathed. There was finally a face to put to his partners struggles. He looked forward to punching that face.

 

Clint continued past the grating, sliding down an incline to reach the next opening; vertical cover in the wall of the vent. He pulled out a knife and started loosing the screws silently. When the last screw fell, he grabbed the grating and lowered it slowly the to floor of the vent beside him. Twisting in the small space to pull his bow from its place on his back, he snapped it open and nocked an arrow, training it on the figure in red below him, just in case.

 

The pair in the room below sidestepped each other, wary eyes locked onto smug ones as punch after punch was thrown, but none landed. Endless kicks and elbows and strikes, easily avoided. If this was the man that trained her, it made sense that she wouldn’t be able to overcome him. He knew all her tricks - he was the one who taught them to her. Clint frowned as he watched their fight pattern. Serafeim was holding back deliberately, drawing Natasha out so that she would use her energy up before she managed to injure him even once. If she didn’t land a hit soon, he would end her. He caught one of her punches, tugging her arm around with a sickening crunch. Clint winced, seeing the unnatural angle her shoulder was sitting at. _Shit._ He wanted her to finish him herself, but he couldn’t just watch. He had to get involved. He lowered the bow, rolling forward out of the vent and falling silently to the ground below. He landed in a crouch, undetected, and moved back against the wall, knocking his bow again from the shadows.

 

Natasha had the determination and skill, but Kir knew her too well, predicting and easily blocking every move. Eventually he managed to get behind her, arms snaking around hers and pining her back against him, smirking as she struggled against his body.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Natalia.” He growled in her ear, before she smashed her head backwards, connecting with his jaw violently. She used the momentum to throw herself against him, slamming them both to the ground, and spinning around in his arms to lock both hands around his throat. Clint watched from the shadows, hardly recognising the animalistic fury in his partner as she pinned the writhing body below her. Eventually the other man went still, but she threw another four of five punches before finally letting her arms drop.

 

Both of their eyes flicked toward the door as they heard the muffled footsteps of approaching guards. Natasha turned to pick her weapons up again, freezing with one hand halfway to her gun.

“What the fuck!?” She screeched, spinning around and locking onto his hidden form. “Barton? The fuck do you think you’re doing here?”

 _Busted._ He stepped forward from the shadows, lowering his bow slightly.

“Helping a friend,” he replied simply, falling into place beside her (close enough to fight with her, but far enough to avoid being hit by her), and aiming his bow at the door once again. Natasha clenched her fists, and he could sense her struggling to regain calm.

“You followed me.” She spat accusingly. “I told you not to come! Do you realise what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into?” She hissed at him, shooting him a glare before focussing on the approaching fight again, grabbing her weapons and preparing for another fight. She listened to the scuffle outside the door for a second before frowning. “Stark is here too? Dammit.”

“Just finish him off, we’ll get you out, and we can argue later!” He called as the doors were blasted open by the Iron Man suit repulsers and the guards stumbled through them.

“I brought a party!” Tony yelled, as he punched and blasted his way over to them. The room filled with security, armed men swarming around them warily, drawing the fight away from Serafeim’s unconscious body. Clint fired arrow after arrow, and when his quiver emptied, he used the bow to block punches.

“Blast us out, Stark!” Clint called to him, emptying his gun and drawing Natasha knives. Tony leaped to the nearest wall, knocking guards down as he went, and fired up both repulsers, focussing the energy of the blast in one spot on the wall. Once the wall was weakened enough, he swung a vicious punch that went through the concrete, and dug a hole larger enough for them to escape through.

“No one ever says ‘please’!” Tony grumbled, stepping forward to where his teammates were fighting. Natasha hurled her last blade, gave the two of them a deadly look, and then disappeared into the wall. Clint followed her, tossing an explosive arrowhead behind him to delay the guards long enough for Tony to blunder through after them. Clint turned back to the emptying room, noticing that The Serpent’s body was no longer on the floor where he had fallen. Tony spun him roughly around to face him, looking over both of them and using the suit' technology to scan them for injuries. He resisted the urge to pull Natasha into a hug, and instead just glanced over at her to reassure himself that she was okay. Well… physically okay.

“We’re good?” Tony checked, “let’s get out of here!”

 

Clint wasted no time latching onto Natasha’s undamaged arm and dragging her after him across the room. He ignored the glare she was sending him, trusting Stark to follow.

“Short cut!” Stark yelled, voice amplified by the suit, as he sent a fist through the window, glass raining down around him. Before Clint had time to turn around, he felt a firm, metal hand grasp the back of his shirt and yank him off his feet. He cursed as Tony lifted him and Natasha from the ground, using his boot rockets to propel them up and out of the window. The moment they were clear of the building, Tony released them, landing easily as they plummeted into the snow. Clint stumbled to his feet inelegantly, as his partner leapt to hers and began cursing vehemently.

“I cannot believe you _morons!_ You absolute asshole idiots! What were you thinking? Who’s brilliant fucking idea was it to try and infiltrate a a fucking Russian crime lord’s operation? Imbeciles. I can’t believe you followed me! I left you the fuck behind for a reason!” She tired her hands through her hair, glaring unforgivingly at the two of them.


	50. TONY 0715 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They run away from the warehouse (and their feelings).

 

Tony opened the visor of his helmet so he could meet her glare.

“I never said it was brilliant! Just figured you would probably get carried away and wouldn’t make it back out.” He defended cautiously.

“Tasha… be reasonable.” Clint took a wary step toward her.

“No, don’t you _‘Tasha’_ me, Barton. If I didn’t have to worry about you two, I would have been able to finish him ! Instead he got away - again!” She screeched.

“Don’t you mean if you didn’t have to worry about surviving?” Tony accused darkly. “Come on, Romanov, look at yourself. We’re both unscathed but you’re hardly standing. Don’t act like you intended on walking away from this when it was over.Anyways, he looked pretty dead to me, you didn’t do so bad.”

They watched her in an uncomfortable silence for a moment while Tony's word sank in. He wasn't as good at reading people as Clint, or Natasha were. But he knew what that emptiness in her eyes meant. Takes one to know one.

"It was too easy. He practically let me overpower him! It was set up!” She turned and began stomping away into the dawn. Clint exchanged a glance with Tony that told him they were thinking the exact same thing. Nothing about what they had just done had been _easy._

“He knows you two are emotional stakeholders now! He’s going to use you against me. Or even worse - use me against you! Don’t you see the corner you’ve backed into?” She spun around to yell at them again before turning and running in the direction of the safe house. Clint sighed in defeat, not even attempting to chase after her.

“You don’t think she’s right, do you?” Clint asked uneasily, glancing back toured the building behind them before starting to walk away.

“I dunno,” Tony admitted honestly. “She beat him up pretty bad… he looked gone to me.”

“She’s probably just stressed and pissed and… _her._ ” Clint sighed, “but at least she’s alive.”

“I get the feeling she doesn’t want to be.” Tony muttered watching the figure in the distance with a knowing look. He noticed the barely hidden sadness in the archers face, and snapped his visor shut. “Come on, we’ll catch up to her.”

He tucked an arm around the other mans shoulders, grasping him firmly before taking off, well accustomed to flying with a passenger due to the amount of times he had to catch Clint when he jumped off buildings while on missions. They landed in the snow a few yards behind their teammate, who had slowed her pace as she trudged moodily through the snow. She turned around to glare at them.

“Take that damn suit off, Stark, it’s like a beacon yelling for attention.” She snapped, speeding up again to try and put some distance between them.

“Awh but it’s my comfort blanket. And it’s warm.” He grumbled, tugging the helmet off. “Your comfort blanket? How old are you, Stark?” Clint rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Tony went to shove him, but misjudged the distance, pushing a little too hard. “Don’t mock me, bird boy.”

 

Clint toppled over, not expecting the push, and landing in the cold snow with a grunt. He latched onto Tony’s leg as he passed, the sudden weight change throwing him off balance.

“Son of a-” his stance finished with a mouthful of snow as he face planted beside Clint.

“Grow up!” Natasha called back angrily. “We don’t have time for this.”

Clint smirked for a moment before dropping his smug smile at Natasha’s tone. He stood quickly with a frown, offering Tony a hand. Tony reached up, gripping the archers arm with a metallic gauntlet, and waiting for the other man to haul him up. The moment Clint pulled against him, Tony allowed the arm of the suit to detach, sending Barton backwards into the snow again. Tony let the suit fall open onto the snow around him, standing as it clipped back into place, and picking it up once it had formed a suitcase again. He hauled Clint back to his feet, and they exchanged a solemn glance before hurrying to catch up with Natasha before she reached the safehouse and left them locked out in the cold.

 


	51. NATASHA 0800 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The physical fighting may be over, but there's still a major problem the three of them are facing.

 

Natasha stood guard at the door to the safe house, carefully observing her surroundings as she waited for the other two to catch up. One they reached the door, she stepped in silently, allowing them to follow her before locking it behind them. Still avoiding making eye contact, she swept each room on both floors of the house, checking for bugs or changes or anything suspicious, before finally returning to the main room to face her teammates. She crossed her arms defensively, supressing a wince, as she faced them.

They met her gaze sternly, and the three of them stood in silence, waiting for the other party to apologise first, but no one was sorry about what they had done.

“You can at least make yourself useful by setting my shoulder back in.” She grumbled eventually, laying down on the couch with a scowl. She stared up at the ceiling, keeping herself pin straight, waiting for one of them to start making an effort to fix the mess they had made. She rolled her eyes when Barton was immediately at her side, bending her elbow gently and resting his hand loosely in hers. Stark stepped up behind her, pushing firmly down on her collarbones to keep her still.

“This will hurt a lot less if you relax, Natasha…” Clint sighed, adjusting his grip on her arm slightly.

“Just get it over with Barton, I’ve had plenty worse.” She snapped, fighting to keep her face neutral as he forced her wrist downward and then shoved her arm back up, allowing the joint to pop into place with a sickening crunch.She tensed instinctively, her fingers gripping onto his hand for a split second before she managed to collect herself. She tugged her arm away from them, sitting up a little too quickly and ignoring the slight spinning in her head.

“Thanks.” She muttered, standing up and striding to the other side of the room.

“Seems like we just keep on patching you up, Nat.” Stark sighed, lowering himself onto the couch. She shot him a vicious glare.

“I don’t need you two to patch me up, just thought it might make you feel useful. I won’t ask next time.”

“I’ve got no problem with helping you when you need it. I just wish you wouldn’t need it so often.” He explained, flicking his eyes over her other injuries. She bristled slightly under his gaze, holding her self deathly still to hide the pain she was still in.

 

Natasha knew she was being difficult and ungrateful - after all, the three of them were alive and relatively okay. Two of the people she cared about were trying, in their own idiotic, stupid ways, to show that they stupidly cared for her too. It didn’t mean what they did was right, but maybe she should give them a little slack. She opened up the cupboards, pulling out mugs and a box of tea bags and instant coffee.

“Drinks?” She offered halfheartedly. “Not drugged, Barton can smell it and check.” She added when Stark raised an eyebrow.

“I could so do with a coffee.” Clint admitted, eyeing her warily. Tony nodded agreement, so she made three coffees. She already knew how Clint took his, and from the way the genius’s eyes were drooping, she figured he’d drink whatever sort of coffee she could come up with. The three of them dodged around the inevitable discussions they were faced with, falling awkwardly into a painful silence as the kettle boiled in the corner.

 

Once the coffee’s were poured, she passed one wordlessly to her partner, leaving the other on the coffee table because _precious Tony Stark doesn’t like being handed things._ She took the third mug and retreated to curl up in her armchair.

“So whats the plan then?” She asked bluntly, sick of avoiding the subject.

“Get out sorry asses back to the Tower. We can take my jet as soon as you’re ready.” Stark said, gulping down his black coffee. Natasha tilted her head slightly to the side, and from the barely audible sigh that escaped Barton’s lips, she knew that he was already aware of what she was going to say.

“Who says I’m coming back with you?”

“Me. Literally just then.” Tony met her eyes steadily. Clint finished his coffee and moved to the kitchen to make another. Natasha knew he only did it to avoid having to look at her.

“Stark,” she replied, surprisingly calmly, “I’m not going to have this debate with you.”

“Surrendering already? I’m flattered. Pack a bag.” He said firmly.

“Have we not established that I don’t take orders?” She quipped. “No. I’m not going with you.”

“Have we not established that I’m stubborn, and Clint cares, and we’re not leaving you here to get yourself killed.” He retorted. She narrowed her eyes at him, taking another sip of coffee while she formulated a reply.

“I’m stubborn too. Clint _shouldn’t_ care. And if I go with you I’ll just be bringing more danger back to the tower and the people we care about.” She countered, keeping her tone level.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” Clint said quietly from behind them. “Please.”

“We’re either staying with you, or you’re coming with us. Choice is yours.” Tony replied cooly.

“Theres a threat in New York.” She drained the remained of her coffee, placing the mug carefully on the coffee table even though she wanted to slam it down and watch it shatter. “You two need to get back there and sort it out, and leave me to deal with my own business.”

“If there _is_ a threat back home, don’t you think you should come back with us to face it? Like it or not, you’re an Avenger. So if someone is trying to bring us down, that involves you - Tasha.” Clint was staring down into his second coffee, his voice reaching that dangerous level of calm where she knew he was close to lashing out. Natasha could feel the tension bubbling under her skin, and subtly dug her nails into her palm to try and regain her focus.

“As part of the team, and as someone who cares about you, I think it’s my duty to protect my teammates rather than further endanger them.”

“Look, Romanov.” Tony tugged a hand across his face, trying to reason with her. “Its not like the Tower is some secret base, or like we’re undercover or anything. People know who we are, and they know where we are. You staying out of it won’t keep us uninvolved, it’ll just give them two points of access.”

 

The cogs in her brain whirred and she allowed a distinctly different tone to settle over her demeanour as she contemplated her next move. She didn’t like her options. But she could drag herself through hell if it prevented her causing harm to people she cared for.

“Oh, no. No, Tasha, stop right now.” Clint’s warning tone was laced with something deeper… _worry?_ He stepped warily toward her, eyes meeting hers as they attempted to read each other. “I know you and I can see what you’re thinking an there is absolutely _no way_ I am letting that happen.”

She gritted her teeth, cursing herself for being so see through. Steeling her eyes, she raised a single brow calmly, waiting to see who’s resolve would break first.

“Um. Hey so I don’t get the whole body language thing going on here… did I miss something?” Tony chewed on his lip, eyes darting between the two of them as he tried to make sense of years of partnership. Clint didn’t look away, staring accusingly through her as he spoke coldly.

“She’s got it into her idiotic head that we’re going to be targets until They get her back. She thinks if she gives herself up to them, we’ll be safe.” He snapped with a dark look on his otherwise placid face. Tony’s head fell, and he furrowed his brow, blinking slowly.

“Surely you realise we’d just follow you straight back in there…” he frowned at her as though it was obvious. _Clueless American._

“What is _wrong_ with you two? It’s logical. It makes sense. It keeps you two alive. What more could you want from a plan?” She pulled her legs up to her chest, crossing her arms over them, careless of the bruises and lacerations she was covered in.

“Three alive. Thats what I want. How selfish of me to ask for all three of us to make it out alive.” Tony snapped.

“I’ve done the maths, Stark, it’s not logical. Theres more risk than there is gain if I come.”

“Don’t lecture me on math, Romanov. I worked that equation ages ago. I’m the genius. I say the risk is worth it. Clint agrees. Oh look at that, majority vote has you overpowered. Get. Packing.” He stepped toward her dangerously. He wasn’t the dangerous part, but it was dangerous how close he was allowing himself to get to her. Her gaze flicked over to Clint, only to be met by a consolidating stare that made her insides twist.

“Fuck you both,” she muttered eventually, turning and heading back up the stairs to her room to pack her things.


	52. CLINT 0900 SUNDAY

 

Relief washed over the archer and he allowed his body to finally catch up with his mind, slumping down on the nearest chair. He was exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. How many times recently he had believed he may never see his partner again, yet here they were, finally agreeing on something.

 

Natasha didn’t come back for a full ten minutes, and Clint knew she would have been ready after three and a half. She returned in one of her old, pre-SHIELD black catsuits, hair tied back, and a hoodie over the top to make her look casual. She was spinning a handgun between her fingers, and Clint could recognise the vague silhouettes of at least four knives hidden on her body. She dropped a duffel bag onto the floor, allowing her agitation to seep through. “You two ready?” She muttered, raising a sharp eyebrow.

“Sure am.” Tony stood, joints cracking as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll make sure the jet is ready for takeoff as soon as we get there.”

She nodded, unzipping the bag and puling out two jackets, throwing one at each of them.

“Warm, and bullet resistant. If you do, however, manage to get shot, this will do nothing to protect you from my fist connecting with your nose.” She stated blandly, pulling out two Glocks and placing them on the coffee table. “I know you aren’t overly keen on these, Stark, but just keep it on you, okay?”

Clint picked the jacket up from the couch beside him, noticing with slight unease that it was a mens jacket, far too large to ever be useful to Natasha. _Why then, does she have two of them conveniently stored in her safe house?_ He tugged it on, pushing his worries to the back of his mind and picking up the gun. Beside him, Tony was already disappearing into the warm material, but was glaring uneasily at the gun on the table. _Ugh._

“Let’s get going then.” Clint said, grabbing his bow and quiver and stepping toward the door. She brushed past him, opening the front door and allowing an icy breeze in. He ducked his head against the cold, stepping out into the snow once again.

 

He tried to make eye contact with her several times, but she stared adamantly forward, focussing on nothing but the task at hand. Whenever he walked within a metre of her she would subtly increase her speed, giving him clear signs that she was not in the mood for conversation. Eventually the dull crunch of their feet on the snow and the stubborn silence was too much for him, so he tugged his hearing aids out and shoved them into his pocket, crossing his arms as he continued to walk. Not like there was anything important to hear anyways.

 


	53. NATASHA 0930 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's a little done with all the drama so turns his ears off. Leaving a perfect opportunity for another Stark-Romanov heart to heart.

 

They had been walking in silence for at least ten minutes by now, but still had a few kilometres to go before they reached the airport. Knowing the upcoming flight would be even more awkward if Barton wasn’t speaking to her, Natasha decided to make the most of the opportunity to speak to Stark without the archer hearing.

“He’s still dangerously pissed at me, isn’t he?” She murmured, keeping her pace the same, and hardly moving her lips. Providing no sign to the man slightly behind her that she was even speaking.

“Oh yah.” Tony nodded, eyes flicking over to watch her from the side. “But only because he cares.”

She closed her eyes with a sigh, trying to organise her mess of thoughts. “How long do you think it will take him to forget I suggested giving myself up to the Room?” She groaned. She could tell from the quiet stare Tony gave her that he didn’t want to answer.

“I guess we’ll see.” Was all he said, focussing on the snowy terrain once more.

Natasha frowned. _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

“I mean, maybe if you started valuing in your own life equally to his… he might mind it easier to forgive you.”

“And why might I do that, Stark?” She shot him a disapproving stare.

“Well we’d be a lot less likely to second guess your intentions.”

“You should _always_ second guess _everyones_ intentions.” She stated with a withering glare. “Besides, just because I value his life more than is healthy, doesn’t mean I don’t value mine enough.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tony probed nonchalantly, watching her as if he knew what she felt but _how could he even begin to understand?_

“I don’t know.” Natasha would have been more on her guard, but she was preoccupied scanning the streets around them. “I owe him a debt.” She fell back on the half truth. It was better than admitting that a) she didn’t really know, or b) she might be slightly compromised.

“Whatever you say.” Tony say, glancing toward the other man who was glaring forlornly at the ground.

“Like you’d know better,” she retorted, following his eyes over to Clint.

“Never said I did. It’s you two who keep labelling me a genius.” He pointed out.

“You’re a self proclaimed genius,” she scoffed, “we just repeat it. Look. Just… Clint and I are partners, nothing more. Don’t sit there implying theres anything else to it.”

“Hey, hey. I aint the one getting into intense eye contact with him, it’s creepy the way you look into each others souls. I honestly can’t even tell if you’re mental undressing each other, imagining ways to murder each other, or just having a conversation about the weather.”

“Wh-what?” She gawked at him in unmasked disbelief. “I’ve known him for years, we can’t help but communicate nonverbally.”

“Still!” Tony gestured vaguely with his hands. “It’s weird. You communicate with each other via the angles of your eyebrows or something. Or do you blink morse code? It freaks me out.”

“You and Pepper sometimes… you guys look at each other and know exactly what you’re thinking before you say it. You just _get_ each other. I can’t help but notice that Clint has some certain tells. He’s annoyingly as good as I am at hiding them, but when he lets them show it’s easy to follow his though process.” Natasha countered.

“You totally just suggested you and Clint are an item.” Tony chuckled slightly. “I’m not letting you take that back.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion before she caught on to how her words might have sounded and her eyes widened.

“No. No. No, no. Fuck you Stark. No. Barton and I have no further relationship outside of work and don’t you dare tell him that I accidentally implied _anything_.” She frowned. Was she denying it for Tony’s sake or for her own?

“No promises.” Tony said smugly, pulling his jacket tighter against the cold.

“Don’t you dare.” She scowled. “The situation is bad enough, you’d just make it worse between me and Clint.”

He pretended not to hear her, shoving his hands into his pockets and smirking.

“You smug bastard,” she hissed, taking a glance at Clint to ensure he was still oblivious. “You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“Freudian Slip?” He suggested, forever finding ways to wind her up. _Ugh._

“No. Most certainly not,” she huffed, frowning. “Shut it, Stark, it didn’t mean anything, you just misinterpreted it.”

“Whatever, spider.” He chuckled, somehow unfaltering under her continuous glare.

“Whatever, tin head,” she shot back, irritated that he was so calm and _chill_ when she was losing her composure.

“Excuse you!” He hissed, sounding genuinely offended. “It’s a titanium gold alloy! Not _tin._ ”

“Whatever you say,” she repeated his earlier words with a smirk.

“Ohh, so thats how its gonna be?” He crossed his arms. “Fine then, GingerSnaps.”

 

He finally shut up. She would have been relieved except that Clint chose that exact moment to turn as stare directly at her, sighing as though he were about to say something important. He licked his lips and took a short breath, but then paused, shook his head slightly, and continued walking. _Really?_ She could catch up with him and ask what was on his mind. But that was likely just going to start a whole new problem. So she followed on in silence.


	54. CLINT 1015 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a habit of not listening when the conversations aren't going the way he wants them too. Unfortunately, he chooses to listen at a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for being inactive the past few days, fell into a bit of a hole, but I'm digging my way back up.
> 
> I'm going to see Othello tonight so probably won't be able to post anymore until tomorrow.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

 

When they reached the airport, the three of them wordlessly fell into silence, spacing out slightly, and not making direct eye contact with each other. They kept to themselves to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to the group. Clint slipped his hearing aids back in when they entered the heated building, wanting to be able to hear any threats before they got close. Stark headed straight to the private sector, and the two assassins followed quietly, slipping easily past the metal detectors and customs officers. Clint hung back slightly, subtly ensuring Natasha was always between him and Stark so she wouldn’t try anything stupid like running off again. Once they were through the main building and back out on the tarmac, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. It had been a tense day.

 

They approached Stark’s jet, and Natasha raised an eyebrow slightly, glancing over it.

“Damn,” she murmured, yanking her duffel bag higher onto her shoulder.

“Okay, okay, admire it from the inside. Let’s get moving.” Tony said smugly as he brushed past her and hurried up the steps.

“Not admiring it,” she scoffed, “just impressed that you managed to buy something as big as your ego.”

Clint resisted the urge to smirk, keeping his face neutral as he climbed the stairs behind her, relieved to step into the warm cabin. Tony spun around ahead of him, frowning dramatically.

“What, Stark Tower doesn’t size up to my ego?” Tony rolled his eyes, falling ungracefully into the chair he had occupied on the trip over. Natasha ignored him, taking a seat opposite him and reseting her bag o the floor beside her. From the heavy clunk the bag made when it landed on the thick carpet, Clint knew it was packed full of countless weapons. He hesitated a moment before taking a seat in the chair next to Natasha’s, leaning his bow and quiver against it. He sat straight in his chair, still too hard wired to relax, facing the genius opposite him who had shut his eyes and seemed to be planning on sleeping. _Great._ That meant there would be no buffer in the inevitable conversation between him and Tasha. He could already feel her watching him out of the corner of her eye.

 

> ‘You going to get some sleep?’

she signed to him. He realised she still thought he had his ears off. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to bother with a real conversation. His voice would probably betray the overwhelming emotions he was flooding with. He shook his head, not even bothering to sign, hands still clenched in fists, deep in his pockets. She nodded tightly at him, leaning back in her seat the tiniest fraction, body language only emphasising the distance between them.

 

Clint glared at a spot on the floor, wishing he could just grab his bow and start shooting at the wall. It would be interesting to test his aim whilst the jet was encountering turbulence. But Tony would probably get pissed off. Not to mention, he was running low on arrows, and they were still miles from home. He blinked slightly when Natasha sighed loudly, but kept his eyes focused on the carpet, pretending he couldn’t hear.

“How long is the flight again, Stark?” She grumbled, dropping her head back against the chair.

“About ten hours.” Tony replied, opening one eye. He glanced quickly at the archer, who was still seemingly oblivious to the conversation around him. Just because he didn’t want to talk, doesn’t mean he wasn’t going to listen. So Clint stayed still and silent, ignoring the gaze of the other two. Besides, who knows what rubbish they would say about him if they thought he couldn’t hear.

 

“I think you hurt his feelings.” Tony said eventually, speaking to Natasha but still watching Clint. Just because Clint couldn’t _see_ him, didn’t mean he couldn’t _feel his eyes on him._

“Hurt his feelings?” There was genuine confusion in her voice. “Okay… let me work through this. He was pissed off when I suggest going back to Serafeim because he worked hard to get me out of there. So he’d be insulted. Or at best - angry. How’d you jump from that to thinking he’s _hurt?_ ”

“Oh he’s definitely angry.” Tony noted. _Damn right._ “But I mean, you really don’t seem to value yourself as a friend of ours, or part of the team. Even I would be upset - except that I’me me.”

_Upset can’t even begin to cover it._

“Old habits die hard.” Natasha defended flatly. “Do you know how hard it was to break the conditioning that nothing was more important than a mission? That I was an _asset,_ not a human being? Pushing my friends and then civilians past that priority was difficult enough. Of course, if I try and explain that to _him,_ he just worried about my messed up head. He already had too much to worry about.”

Clint fought to keep his expression controlled, glad to have the hood of his jacket providing him a slight cover. They would both be furious if they knew he was eavesdropping on them. Not really his fault though, they knew he was right there.

 

“So… once we sort out whoever was in the tower…” Tony trailed off. They lapsed into a loud silence, filled with the droning of the engines and the rush of the wind.

“What do you want to happen next?” She asked softly.

“A lot of things that are highly unlikely.” Tony said, his eye roll evident in the tone of his voice. “But more realistically, I guess I want the team to stick together for a change. Get the other guys back from whatever corner of the universe they’re hiding in, and just be a _team_ again.”

“And what if I decide to go against that?” Natasha asked evenly, putting an effort in to sound nonchalant, which said to Clint that she wasn’t asking hypothetically.

“Weeell.” Tony sounded exhausted. Clint wasn’t surprised. “We can’t control you or your choices. But you can’t control ours either. I’m not going to keep you from leaving against your will, but don’t expect me to convince Clint not to go after you again.”

“I think he pretty much hates me by now,” she noted in a deadpanned manner. _She has no idea how wrong she is._

“I’m inclined to disagree with you there.” Tony said vaguely, glancing between the two of them again. “He thinks you’re worth saving.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” she returned flatly. Clint flinched slightly, but managed to prevent any noticeable movement. Natasha must have noticed something in Tony’s face, because suddenly she was sitting up even straighter.

“He’s talked to you about this?” She breathed, it was hardly a question. “Tell me what he said, Tony.”

“What? I never said… well he might have - a bit. He’ll shoot me if I say anything!” Tony stammered.

_Damn right._ Clint glanced over at his quiver of arrows. He could spare one for Tony.

“What? C’mon, Stark, talk to me. You can’t just start something and then not tell me!” She snapped.

“I didn’t start anything - for once.” Tony grumbled, crossing his arms and sending a wary look at the archer. He wasn’t spilling, which was nice. Though Clint wasn’t sure if it was respect or just fear that was keeping the other man quiet.

“You so did start this. You gave me one of those _looks_ as though you know more than you’re letting on. I can read people, Tony, I know theres more to this.” She retorted.

“No, no! I just… it’s just that I maybe understand how you feel! It’s nothing to do with him, I swear. I’m not even _trying_ to understand him.” Tony sighed. Natasha huffed, irritated, and Clint surpassed a snort.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked, a bit quieter, that harsh edge to her voice softening.

“You know,” Tony gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, “the whole guilt ridden _I-put-those-I-care-about-in-danger_ thing.”

Natasha watched him quietly for a moment, processing his words.

“How do you deal with it then?”

“Denial. Self loathing. Anger. Stress. Procrastination.” Tony said blithely. “Not exactly ‘dealing with them.’”

“Well then, you have absolutely no right to tell me to stay, at least I’m doing something productive and trying to fix my problem.” She scoffed.

“I never did tell you to stay,” the genius pointed out lowly. “I maybe agree with you wanting to leave, doesn’t mean I understand it.”

“Fuck.” She said suddenly, and Clint felt her eyes boring into him again. “Barton was right. We _are_ alike. Thats enough to make me want to puke.”

Clint sighed, finally getting sick of the conversation. He was sick of pretending to be oblivious.

“Of course I was right.” He growled, standing up and stomping toward the bathroom, not making eye contact with either of them as they froze in horror, realising he had heard the whole dammed thing.


	55. NATASHA 1110 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Tony know a thing or two about sadness. Turns out their archer buddy is in just as deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have some feelings.

 

Natasha froze, her head snapping to look at Clint when he spoke. _Der’mo._ _How had he heard that? Had he been listening the whole time?_ Her mind raced through was had been said, about her upsetting Clint, about struggling with the mental blocks in her head, about not wanting to stick around… _fuck, he had heard it all._

“Clint!” Natasha leapt to her feet to follow him.

“Uh ohh.” Tony sank into his chair stiffly, watching the other two with wide eyes as they stormed toward the back of the cabin.

Clint didn’t slow down, reaching the bathroom and slamming the door behind him just as Natasha caught up. She ran a hand through her hair, turning back to face Stark.

“Dammit. He was pissed off before, but now… I’ve never seen him this mad. Never at me.” She said lowly.

“I’ve seen him this mad at you…” Tony replied quietly, glancing at the empty seat Clint had been occupying moments earlier.

Natasha could hear the sink running, and then muffled movements as her partner sat down against the door. It was an inward opening door, so with his weight against it, she had no chance of breaking it down to talk some sense into him. Her frown deepens, but she didn’t move.

“When? And what did I do to fix it?” She asked Tony, holding onto the slightest hope that it was fixable. Whatever ‘ _it_ ’ was. But then again, if he was mad at her, he’d be less likely to come after her again…

“The first time you ran off to Russia.” Tony sighed. “And the second.”

“Oh, shit.” She muttered. “This has been building up for a while. I don’t know what he wants from me. Normally when he’s upset, I kill whoever upset him. Though I’m sure he’d protest if I tried that in this situation, seeing as I’m the one he’s pissed at.”

“That definitely won’t help anything.” Tony said quickly, sighing before adding “just talk to him. I won’t listen.”

“Fine.” She swallowed, turning back to face the door. “Don’t look at me either.” She hissed over her shoulder, before knocking against the closed door. “Barton! Talk to me, dammit!”

Tony smirked slightly, but turned in his chair, giving her a fraction of privacy. There was no reply from the other side of the door.

“Clint?” she tried, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead against the door. “Fine. Don’t talk, just listen. Blocking me out won’t help. I’m working on opening up to you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

 

She let out an exasperated breath when she was answered with nothing but silence. Maybe he really had taken his hearing aids out this time…There was a dull thud, as though he had let his head smack against the door, and she winced slightly in concern.

“I’m listening.”

The relief she felt was brief. She sat down on the floor outside the door. Now she had his attention, but no idea where to begin.

“I…I- fuck. I don’t know, Barton, I’m not sure what I’m doing I just- I think…” she took a breath, trying to string her thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I care about you, okay?” The words sounded foreign on her tongue, but she pressed onwards. “You’re dangerously angry, and you have the right to be, but I don’t want you to hurt anyone, especially yourself. So please. Just… open the door, Clint. Scream at me, rant at me, tell me how much you hate me. But don’t bottle this up, Clint, it’s not healthy.”

“I’m. Fine.” The empty words were hardly audible through the door.

“No, you aren’t.” Natasha replied flatly, “I know you better than you do. You aren’t fine, you’re faking it, even if it’s convinced you - it hasn’t convinced me. What did I do, Clint? Talk to me. Maybe I can fix this…”

“I tried, Tasha. I tried to help you. I tried to fix you. But it seems to me like you’re don’t even care if you go backwards. It’s almost like you’re _trying_ to go backwards. To undo any progress we made.” His tone was weak, and she wished she could see his face so she could read the emotion behind his words instead of just hearing the emptiness of his voice.

“No, Clint, of course I wouldn’t _try_ to go back to what I was. I know you tried, and really you did help a lot. But you can’t change decades of torturous brain training with a bandaid, it doesn’t work, and it might not ever. But you made me care, Barton. That’s enough for now. Because you made me care about you… and now that I care, I don’t want to be putting you at risk anymore.”

“Don’t give me that. You don’t really care, you just want to. You act like you do, and you believe your own lie. Sometimes I believe it too.”

Natasha flinched at his words, shocked at how little trust he seemed to have in her all of a sudden.

“I’m not lying, Barton. I respect you enough to be truthful with you. But I’m a risk to you, because I care. I put you at risk by caring.”

“No. Don’t you get it? You aren’t the one putting me at risk. I chose to come after you. I made the choice to put myself in danger. It wasn’t your fault.” He sighed.

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t your fault!” She retorted,. “I _chose_ to go back to Russia. You only followed me to make sure I didn’t get killed. The only reason you were there was because of me.”

“So if you stop putting yourself in danger, then you won’t have to worry about me following you into danger.” Clint chided bitterly.

“It’s not that simple, Clint, and you know that. Even if I stayed in that cell in the Tower forever, you still wouldn’t be safe, because _I_ _am_ the danger.”

“No, Tasha.” He growled in frustration, and she heard his fist collide with something. “You aren’t. You might attract danger. You might surround yourself with danger. And you’re certainly dangerous. But you, my partner, are not the danger. Not to me, anyways.”

 

She didn’t know what to say for a long moment. Dragging her fingers through her hair, she glanced back to their seats. Tony was still facing away, seemingly asleep, but she figured he’d be listening in on them for sure. _Ugh._

“Are you implying that you don’t think I could kill you?” She challenged.“Could? Or would?”

She was silent for a couple more seconds, staring intently at the door.

“I know you wouldn’t.” He said eventually.

“That’s a dangerous level of trust, Barton.”

“So who’s the danger now, then?”

“Dammit, Barton, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you dead.” She cringed at her own weakness, the emotion showing in her voice so uncharacteristically.

“Then don’t leave.” He replied hollowly. She ground her teeth at the weight of his words, fists clenching.

“You wouldn’t do that.” She said quietly, hating the pleading tone that was leaking into her voice.

“You wouldn’t be there to stop me.” He replied just as softly.

“Bloody hell, just open the damned door!” She hissed, then shut her eyes, taking a breath. “Clint… please?”

 

Natasha was surprised to hear shuffling on the other side of the door as he stood up. The lock clicked open, and the door swung inwards to reveal her partner, looking rather distressed, and staring blankly out at her. She moved with the typical silence that was instinctive of both of them, opening the door further and in one swift movement pulling him into a hug. Realisation hit her that she’d never initiated a hug in her life. He was still in her arms for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and hugging her back just as tightly. She knew she couldn’t meet his eyes, so she rested her chin on his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his ear, not entirely sure what she was thanking him for.

“It’s okay,” he whispered back. “And… thank you, too.”

Neither of them moved for a while, secure in each other’s company, and appreciative of the silence. She could hear his steady breathing, and figured he was probably listening to her breaths just as intently, relieved that they were both alive. The beautiful moment was savagely interrupted by Stark, clapping obnoxiously from his seat.

“Fucking finally!” He said, with a shit eating grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ship clintasha," they said.  
> "It will be fun," the said.
> 
> rip me


	56. TONY 1135 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of them are really willing to admit which conflict scares them the most.  
> The fight 30,000 feet below, or the internal wars they were all struggling with onboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while again whoops. But heres the next chapter :)

 

Tony grinned smugly, applauding as he saw his two team mates _finally_ acknowledging that they cared about each other. Natasha’s head snapped around and she shot him a chilling glare, quickly disentangling herself from Clint’s limbs.

“Finally _what_ , Stark?” There was a challenge in her tone that suggested he shouldn’t speak his mind, so he just shrugged knowingly.

“I’m just glad we’re all getting along again.” He replied simply, grinning at how flustered they both seemed.

Clint levelled a hard stare at him before clearing his throat.

“So.. how long is left of this flight, then?” Clint managed to mask any emotion in his tone.

“Just over seven hours to go. The winds are in our favour.” Tony said, scanning his eyes over the flight status screen.

“And do we have a plan for when he arrive?” Natasha questioned, her face returning to it’s emotionless composure.

“Uhh,” Tony stalled. He hadn’t really been thinking that far ahead. “Head to the tower, act natural but keep an eye out. Don’t let them know that we’re onto them, so I have time to go back through the security feeds and see what I can figure out.”

“What if they’re already waiting for us? Are we gonna fight our way out of this one too?” Natasha asked curtly.

“What else do you suggest? Running? Hiding?” Tony raised an eyebrow, surely they had all had enough running and hiding for a lifetime. “That tower needs to be a place we can feel safe together. We won’t let them take it from us.”

Tony noticed the way both his team members eyes flicked to each other when he said ‘ _together_ ,’ but he resisted the urge to smirk at them. They’d all been through a lot lately, he could hardly blame them for holding on tightly to what little they had left.

“We don’t even know what we’re up against, Stark. They managed to break into your high security tower without triggering alarms. We shouldn’t underestimate them. We don’t even know who they _are_!” Clint reasoned, folding his arms.

“Well… we have a few hours. I guess we just have to prepare for several different worse case scenarios. I mean here’s to hoping things go smoothly, but if they don’t at least we will have some idea of what to do next…” Tony suggested, trying for once to be the positive influence in the discussion.

“There’s a million and one possible situations we could be faced with, it’s just not feasible.” Clint sighed in defeat.

“Well lets think of several of the most likely, and go from there then.” Natasha reasoned, heading back over and perching on her seat.

“A siege.” Tony started with what he dreaded the most, “we get to the tower and it’s already compromised. So we call in whoever we can. See if Thor or Banner or Cap and his moody boy want to help out. I know a kid in Queens, and I’m sure there’s other allies we can call in. Play to our strengths, take the tower back.”

“Ambush,” Natasha suggested, “they’re waiting at the airport. I don’t like the idea of getting caught out with civilians around, so we have to stay on our toes. Stick together, make sure we’re armed. Keep the fight away from the public.”

“Trojan. They wait until we’re back in the tower and think we are safe, then someone we trust lets them in.” Clint added. “I guess as soon as we hit the tower we need to be monitoring all security so we have enough warning if something is happening.”

“Possum, they send in a small team. Easy to beat. Put us in a false sense of security when they play dead. Then hit us with our guard down with a bigger strike team.” Tony frowned, feeling the beginnings of panic setting in. He pushed the thoughts down and took a breath. “Stay vigilant. Don’t take anything for granted.”

“Virus; while we are in the airport they bug one of us with something so that when we get into the tower, they can get through after us.” Natasha muttered, shooting Tony a glare that said she still wasn’t forgiving him for bugging her the other day.

“Rainbows!” Clint butted in with a sigh. “Nothing bad happens, and we’re all just being overly paranoid and getting ourselves worked up for no reason.”

Tony and Natasha stared at him with unamused expressions.

“Really?” Tony asked with a hollow laugh. “When have _any_ of us ever been that lucky?”

“I hate how recognisable we’ve become. We’re like sitting ducks.” Natasha glared out of the window.

“I might be able to help with that…” Tony mumbled thoughtfully, getting up and heading to a hidden supplies cupboard near the back of the jet filled with some projects he had been tinkering with on his last long flight. “They aren’t done… I was still developing the prototypes, but they should last long enough to get us through unrecognised…”

He returned with three long, flat cases, and held them out for the others to see.

“Lucky dip.” He suggested, grabbing the top case for himself and allowing his teammates to pick one each.

“Uhh, what exactly are these, Tony?” Clint questioned, sliding his fingers around the rim of the case to find the opening.

“Photostatic Veils.” Natasha answered for him with a surprised tone to her voice when her case popped open.

“You wore a nano mask when you busted into the Triskelion right? Project Insight?” Tony asked her, noting the familiarity she had with the technology in her hands.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you had any though. Should have expected it though, you always like to tinker with other peoples tech.”

“We still need to keep our guard up, but these should prevent any facial recognition software from catching onto us.” Tony ignored Natasha’s comment. “Which helps with the ambush situation.”

“But what do we do if they play dead and then surprise us?” Clint frowned warily.

“It’s hard to play dead with three bullets in your brain,” Natasha replied, unfazed.

“Okay, how about if they send a second team after us once we’re back at the tower?” Tony questioned, raising a sceptical eyebrow at the two of them. It was unnerving how easily they talked about dangerous situations like this. As though it was no big deal. He supposed events like this were almost every day for ex-assassins.

“I can take the first watch, Nat can take the second.” Clint said immediately,at the exact same time as Natasha said

“I’ll take first watch, Barton can take over once he’s slept.”

They both glared at each other and Tony leaned back to avoid being caught in the eye contact crossfire.

“Clint. No. I’ll take first.” She said calmly, crossing her arms.

“I’m a better observer. You need to fix your wounds as soon as we’re back.” He replied.

“You’ve barely slept! Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I may not have hawk eyes, but neither will you unless you get some rest.”

They both narrowed their eyes, trigger hands drumming impatiently on their knees as they waited for the other partner to cave in first. Tony figured if he didn’t step in soon, they’d need medical before they even touched down.

“We all need sleep,” he sighed, “me included. Lights off in three minutes. If you wanna carry on like children, I’ll treat you like them.” He reclined his chair, shutting his eyes, and thinking about how ironic it was, seeing as none of them ever actually had a chance to be kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end! How exciting!
> 
> This is gonna become a series. Maybe only two part. Maybe a whole verse.  
> If you have any requests for stuff you want to happen in any of the coming works, let me know :)


	57. CLINT 1215 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all try adamantly hard to avoid falling asleep.  
> But of course, they all drift right off.

 

Clint was well aware that all three of them despised sleep, and it was highly likely that the next few hours would be spent with them all mutually pretending to be asleep, because none of them were anywhere near relaxed enough to sleep now. He rolled his eyes as the lights in the cabin dimmed, curling up into his chair and letting his eyelids droop. He _was_ tired. Really tired. But he had managed to push that exhaustion to the back of his mind for days, so why should he embrace it here and now. Easier to keep it under control and stay awake.

 

Clint heard Tony fidgeting slightly across from him, trying to get comfortable, but beside him Natasha had gone completely still, her breathing shallow and slow, as though she was sleeping peacefully. Clint wasn’t stupid. People like them didn’t sleep peacefully. She was faking, just like he was. He allowed himself to fall into his sniper mindset, shutting his body down while keeping his mind completely alert and awake, like he did when waiting for a target.

 

After twenty three minutes, he sensed the slightest movement beside him, as Natasha stopped pretending. Her eyes blinked open and she sat up ever so slightly, breathing rate increasing. If he had been asleep, there would be no chance even he would have woken up from her discreet movement. But he wasn’t asleep, so he noticed.

“Stark, go to sleep,” her voice hissed quietly from close by. Tony had been drumming his fingers on the armrest, but stilled now, as he realised he wasn’t the only one still awake.

“You go to sleep,” his tired voice muttered in return, and Clint could imagine the sour expression on his face.

Natasha sighed beside him. The tiniest exhale of air that betrayed her infuriation with the whole situation. He could feel her eyes on him, searing into his skin. He resisted the urge to shift instinctively, ignoring the shivers along his spine, and keeping his form completely still. Eventually she must have been convinced that he actually was sleeping, because her eyes left him as she focussed on Stark again.

“Wake Clint up and you’re dead.” Was all she said, before she shut her eyes and curled back into the chair. Clint smirked slightly despite himself, the tiniest tug at the corner of his lips.

 

Eventually the unsteady breaths across from him evened out, as the genius finally managed to fall asleep. His hands may have been clenched, and his eyes may have been darting around in their sockets as he dreamt uneasily, but at least he was sleeping. The same couldn’t be said for the other two.

 

Clint knew that Natasha was still awake, by the steady breaths he could feel against his arm. He tried not to let himself over analyse how he felt about that. He really tried. But he couldn’t help noticing that even if she wasn’t _actually_ asleep, she was still comfortable enough in their presence to be that close to him with her guard lowered. And even if she was still trying to deceive him, and even if she was still pissed off at him, her body language said something else, because she had positioned herself on the closest side of her chair to him. Limbs wrapped around themselves, leaning into his space ever so slightly. It wasn’t much. But for an ex-assassin, it was everything.

 

He refused to fall asleep before she did. Who knew how much physical torment she had been through lately. She needed the sleep far more than him. So he was not letting himself drift off until he knew that she had. But he could feel the fuzziness clouding the corners of his thoughts. His legs were getting heavy. His consciousness shifting through limbo. _Aww, brain, no._

 

 

* * *

 

Clint woke up five and a half hours later to a stiff neck, and an uneasy feeling leftover from his dream. His eyes shot open but his body remained still as he took in his surroundings quickly.

_High altitude. Cabin of a plane, no - a jet. Stark’s jet. Flying back to America. From Russia._

_Russia...Natasha!_

His eyes darted around the cabin until he spotted the familiar flaming hair a lot closer than he had expected. The warm weight on his shoulder shifted slightly as his breath caught in his throat. _Dammit, Clint, you’ve woken her up._ He allowed himself a split second to grin at Tony, who had an equally smug expression as he watched the two of them.

 

She must have been absolutely exhausted for her body’s safeguards to allow her to sleep while in contact with another human. It was unheard of. Clint knew that the change in his breathing would have been enough to slowly knock her consciousness, so she would be fully alert and awake wishing twenty five seconds. Clint took advantage of all twenty five of those precious seconds to imprint this moment in his memory. A warm cheek against his shoulder. Soft, fruity smelling hair dangling across his arm. Porcelain features relaxed peacefully, a stark contrast to the usual tight expression that hardened her face. Soft breaths tickling his collarbone.

 

Green eyes shot open and he quickly diverted his gaze to avoid being caught staring. She sat up rigidly, glancing around uneasily.

“Fuck.” She muttered lowly, avoiding Clint’s warm gaze to glare at the ground instead.

“Morning sleepy.” Clint grinned, “well, afternoon. Evening, actually. It’s nearly six pm.” Clint said in surprise, shocked any of them had managed to sleep that long.

“Not funny, Barton,” she shot back with a frown, flicking her gaze to the flight status screen. “We’re less than an hour out. Did I miss anything?”

“You missed the head rest,” Tony mumbled with a smirk, and Clint froze. _Ohhh he is so dead._ Natasha scowled, turning to fix her eyes on Stark with a piercing glare.

“Shut up, Tony, it shouldn’t have happened-”

“Okay so how do we work those face things?” Clint asked quickly, diverting the conversation. Tony relaxed slightly when Natasha’s gaze left his, and he looked to Clint thankfully.

“Just hold it up against your face for a few seconds until it adheres. Make sure the eyes lines up, and make sure we all get a good look at each other’s new faces before we go, so we can recognise each other when we’re out there.” Tony explained. “Oh, and don’t sneeze.”

“Okay but I refuse to ditch my bow so… still gonna look kinda recognisable. I mean… red hair, bow and quiver, suitcase suit.” Clint frowned. Even if facial recognition didn’t get them, they weren’t a discreet trio.

“What if we switch things up?” Natasha said slowly, glancing over at him. “Sure, a woman with a bow is still kinda out of place, but not as recognisable as if you were holding it.”

Clint stared at Natasha for a long moment in a mixture of shock, horror, and disgust. As _if_ he would allow someone else to carry his bow. It was his baby. His one and only. His precious weapon that had been there for him through thick and thin. His fav-

“It makes sense. let’s do it.” Tony interrupted with a shrug as Clint’s jaw just about hit the floor.

Clint’s eyes darted between them, his hand moving protectively toward his bow.

“It’s that, or you leave it behind, Barton.” Natasha said levelly. _Dammit._

“Fine. But don’t let her out of your sight, Nat.” He pouted.

“Her?” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Hey, shut it tin man. You name your robots!” Clint retorted.

“Fair point,” Stark frowned. “Okay, GingerSnaps. You gotta do something about your hair. It’s kinda obvious. Can you do a thing - I don’t know what you people call it - a bun thing in a hat… so we can’t see it.” Tony gestured hopelessly with his hands, fumbling over his words.

“Bun thing in a hat?” She cracked a light smile, “Yeah sure. I can manage something like that.” She tugged up her sleeve to take a hairband from her wrist, twisting her curls into a messy bun and tying it up. “I have a beanie in my bag, I’ll put it on just before we go. Right. Your turn, Stark. How do we make you look less recognisable?”

“Oh c’mon, please. A mask isn’t enough?” Tony whined, crossing his arms defensively.

“If I have to give up my bow, there is no way in hell you are getting off that easily.” Clint grumbled.

“The suitcase suit is really obvious. It would be stupid to leave it behind or separate you from it though, so is there any way to make it more… inconspicuous?”

“Its a suitcase. What more do you want, woman?” Tony protested, holding the case close to his chest protectively.

“It’s red and metallic and ridiculously noticeable. Toss it in a black bag or something, I don’t know.” She sighed.

Tony pulled a carry bag out from beneath his seat, fitting the suitcase into it and zipping it up. He pulled the strap over his shoulder.

“Right. Okay. So once we hit the tarmac, we should probably split. Where should we meet?” He asked.

Clint looked toward Natasha uneasily, and she huffed.

“I’m not going to ditch you two, chill out, Barton. But yes, it will be easier to get through individually. Let’s meet at the door of the airport. It’s a constant flow of people, so it will be easy to blend in there.” She reasoned.

They all exchanged a worried glance. Clint knew he wasn’t the only one who had a really bad feeling about this.

“We’re big kids, we can look after ourselves. It will be fine, and we’ll all meet at the entrance, get in a car and get the hell home.”

“Ten minutes till touchdown.” Tony said hollowly.

They all took deep breaths and prepared for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheh Clint and Tasha eheheh :3


	58. NATASHA 1900 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get to the airport. Get to a car. Get to the tower.
> 
> Sounds easy enough, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love airports. They're such a genuine place. The airport scene in CACW weirded me out because it was an empty airport, and the only time I've seen an empty airport was when we got evacuated a few years ago. 
> 
> But anyways. Airports. Everyone there has such a unique reason. Some people are saying goodbye. Some people are saying hello. Some are running away, some are coming home. Airports see the most real kisses and heartfelt hugs. Airports hold the most desperate hopes of people. Airports bring out peoples best and their worst.
> 
> It's easy to see what someone values in a place where they can easily lose it.

 

 

Once the jet landed, the three of them silently fitted their masks, pulling their hoods up and turning to face their teammates. Natasha covered her hair with a beanie, studying the new faces carefully, memorising them instantly. Stark, being the immature idiot he was, poked out his tongue.

“How do I look?” He asked with a smirk which both the ex-assassins rolled their eyes at.

“As irritating as ever,” Natasha replied easily, picking up Clint’s bow and quiver and slinging them over her shoulder. She glanced out the window as their movement slowed, heading over to the door. “Don’t do anything stupid, you two…”

“See you soon.” Clint zipped up his jacket and stood near her.

The jet stopped moving, and the door opened. She threw a final look at her two friend with strangers faces, then disappeared into the dark American night. Her eyes darted between the faces of those around her as she crossed the tarmac toward the airport building. Scanning for threats as she walked casually, with a slight haste that was not out of place in an airport. To any passer by, she would appear to be a regular civilian… albeit, with a bow and arrows. Despite the danger, she was overly concious of the weapon she carried, knowing she’d be gutted if she lost Clint’s most prized possession.

* * *

She avoided eye contact, walking with an air of confidence as she breezed past security and through the luggage checks. Getting out of airports was always easier than getting in. When the main door was in view, she slowed slightly, glancing in the reflective window of a shop front to subtly scan the crowd behind her. No sign of her teammates yet, but also no one who seemed particularly interested in her, which was good.

* * *

She had expected to arrive at their meet point first, as she had left first, and was smallest - therefore quickest in navigating crowds. She strolled over to a pillar near the doorway, dropping her bag to the floor carefully, and leaning casually against the structure as she waited for her teammates. She pulled a travel brochure from a magazine rack near her, opening it up and pretending to read it, while staring over the top of it to watch the approaching people.

* * *

A vaguely familiar man stared at her for a second too long, and her hand moved instinctively toward one of her knives before she recognised it to be Tony with Not-Tony’s face. She exhaled slowly, dropping her hands and giving him the tiniest nod of acknowledgement. She crouched down to unzip a pocket of her bag, as though searching for something in it, while scanning the crowd once again for her partner.

* * *

Eighteen minutes had passed. The walk from the jet to here had only taken her seven minutes and twenty seconds.

_Where the hell is Clint?_

Natasha looked over to Tony, who was frowning nervously, probably thinking a similar thing to her. She zipped her bag up and stood, indicating to Stark that she was going back for Barton. She started walking briskly back in the direction they had just come from, noticing Tony falling into step a few metres behind her. She resisted the urge to glance behind her and check where he was, trusting him to manage on his own as she traced their route back through the hordes of travellers. The bow and quiver weighed heavier on her back, a subtle reminder that Clint wasn’t even armed with his favoured weapon, and she tried not to recall the rare feeling of safety she had been overwhelmed with when she woke up leaning against him.  _Now is not a good time for distractions, Natalia._

 

She scanned her eyes over the crowds again, doing a double take when she noticed a man dressed as a tourist yet standing oddly still, in a suspiciously defensive stance. Another similar woman to the right and further ahead was tucking her hair behind her ear, likely in disguise of using an ear piece. She slowed to almost a stop, diverting her path and heading to the nearest phone booth. She stepped up to the receiver and picked up the phone.

 


	59. TONY 1925 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to avoid getting on the bad side of a caffeine deprived, highly stressed and incredibly stubborn genius with an iron man suit...  
> 1\. Don't take his stuff.

 

It was oddly satisfying and completely unnerving to be surrounded by people who didn’t recognise him. Not something Tony experienced often. Maybe he should wear a nano-mask every time he leaves the tower. Not that he left the tower often… he rarely even leaves the workshop.

 

He followed Natasha back through the crowds of people, keeping her beanie in his peripheral vision so it didn’t look like they were walking together. When she veered off toward a phone booth, he knew something was up. Stopping to seemingly check his phone, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and turned to follow. He stepped up to the pay phone next to her, standing parallel as they both stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge their team mate. He held down the ‘end call’ button, and picked up the receiver.

“I spot two shifty looking people, one near the escalate, one on the right. Do you see them?” She questioned placidly, speaking just loud enough for him to hear. He moved his head slightly, so that he could scan the area, then nodded, remaining silent.

“If our enemy had enough guards to put a couple on watch, this must be getting pretty serious. And I have a bad feeling that Barton is going to be right in the middle of it, because that’s just what he’s best at.” She sighed.

“Maybe he just stopped to tie his shoes…” Tony suggested softly, adjusting his hold on the handset. He knew it was unlikely, but he didn’t want to think about what could actually be holding the archer behind.

“Whoever they are, they must be looking to start something Stark, or they would have taken him and gone. If there’s still scouts waiting for us then we’re right where they want us to be.” She muttered darkly.

“So do we expose ourselves?” Tony used uneasily. _Please say no, please say no, please say no_ …

“Yes,” she replied curtly. _Damn._ “Well not exactly. We can’t help Clint if we’re both in the same situation as he is. I’m going to expose myself, and when I give you a signal you need to do what you do best - surprise people and make lots of noise. I’ll use the distraction to get to Clint, and then you help us get out.”

 

It was actually a semi decent plan. Only seven hundred ways it could go wrong. Tony sighed reluctantly, but nodded.

“I’ll pose for some photos, the kids will go ballistic.” He wanted to add ‘ _be careful_ ’ but he knew she’d hit him. “Bring him back.”

“That’s the plan.” She replied hollowly, before plastering a wide smile. “Okay bye mom, see you in a few hours!” She called into the receiver, then hung up, and turned away swiftly.

 

It freaked Tony out how quickly she shifted between characters. He waited a few moments before hanging up his own phone and turning around to watch the scene unfold. He tugged the suitcase suit out of the carry bag and placed it on the floor as Natasha strolled toward the nearest suspect, tugging off her mask and letting her hair tumbled out from beneath the beanie. He rolled his eyes as she tapped him on the shoulder and smiled directly at him before kicking him in the nuts. _Ouch._ When the guard grabbed her arm and the woman nearby started heading toward them, speaking into her ear piece, Tony knew it was time for his distraction.

 

He pulled off the nano mask and tossed it into the bag, opening the case and placing his feet into it. The familiar metal built up around him and enclosed him into the quietness of the suit. He walked straight toward the nearest crowd, cringing as their eyes lit up when they noticed him.

“Mama it’s Iron Man!” One little girl screeched and started running toward him, clutching a stuffed bunny. He was tempted to singe one of it’s ears off as retribution for her making _his_ ears bleed with her whiny voice. She sprinted to his side and wrapped her scrawny arms around his leg. He was incredibly thankful that the suit meant he couldn’t feel her proximity and contact, otherwise he would have been writhing in discomfort. The parents of the young girl followed her over, opening the cameras on their phones as more surrounding tourists crowded around, talking excitedly.

Americans and foreigners of all ages lined up to get a photo with Iron Man, and Tony was sure glad the mask remained closed, because he wasn’t sure he would even manage a press smile for the cameras. He repositioned himself so he could watch where Natasha was being dragged off too, trying to remain calm as both his teammates faced whatever unpleasant surprises their unknown enemy had in store for them.

 

* * *

 

When the two guards manhandling her disappeared through a doorway, Tony counted to 100 and then followed them, giving a few hi fives on the way as he escaped the constricting crowds. He approached the door they had gone through, grabbing a takeaway coffee from the hands of an unsuspecting tourist and tipping up the visor of his helmet as he kicked open the door.

The door opened to reveal the Black Widow, pointing two guns at a miraculously alive and uninjured looking Kir Serafeim, who in turn had two guns pointed at a hardly concious and bloodied form he recognised to be Clint Barton. _Well shit._

“Oh,” he said in mock surprise as he downed half of the coffee in one sip, trying to remain calm as he took in the scene. “Fancy seeing you here.”


	60. NATASHA 1940 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go back to find their friend.  
> But what they find instead isn't something they were quite prepared for.

 

When Natasha had been dragged into a room, she thought she would be relieved to find her partner.

She was far from it.

If finding Clint battered and bruised and barely breathing wasn’t enough, feeling the filthy smirk of her old master made ice run through her veins. She immediately threw the two guards from her and pulled out her guns, fixing them on his forehead. _How was he here?_

“You would not shoot me, dear spider.” He drawled easily, hardly flinching at the two weapons trained on his brain.

“How can you be so sure?” She spat, knocking the safety off both of them. He just smiles slowly and nodded to the men standing against the far wall, guns pointing at Clint.

“Because, if you hurt me, they kill your little pet.” He grinned, pointing his own weapons at her partner. “Should I kill him quickly? Or make him suffer? It’s up to you, Natalia.”

“Don’t you dare touch him.” She hissed coldly, not even registering that she had reverted to speaking in Russian. “And he is _not_ my ‘pet.’ He is my partner. And if you ever lay another hand on him I will make it my personal vendetta to ensure your endure a long and excruciating death, and that you are concious for all forty seven days of it. I will peel the skin from your limbs and smother you in salt. I will break all thirty three of your vertebrae - because you are a _spineless_ snake - and then I will cut you open and use your intestines as a noose to strangle you befor-”

“Tasha,” Clint’s weak voice caught her attention straight away and she focused on him immediately, “‘m not worth that, stop…” he coughed up a mouthful of blood, and wiped his mouth against his sleeve shakily. “-stop overreacting, he’s just getting you… worked up.”

She clenched her teeth, and was about to say something snappy when the door swung open and Stark _finally_ stepped into the room.

“Oh,” Stark stated dumbly like the idiot he was. “Fancy seeing you here.”

The silence that entered the room lasted less than one second before six things happened at once.

1\. Tony lunged forward and threw the boiling coffee in his hand straight into Serafeim’s face as he knocked the visor of his suit back down.

2\. The guards against the wall leapt into action and immediately charged the newcomer in the shiny suit, completely ignoring the three most dangerous people in the room.

3\. Natasha fired a two bullets through Serafeim’s hands, knocking the guns off course as he fired them, causing the bullets to embed into the wall on either side of Clint’s head.

4\. Natasha dropped Clint’s bow and quiver from her back, kicking them across the ground toward her fallen partner.

5\. Clint spat the tranquilliser dart he had been holding in his teeth for the past twenty minutes straight into the eye of the Russian who had just shot at him.

6\. Tony just about peed inside his suit.

 

Serafeim crashed to the ground, howling in agony, as Natasha ducked through the crossfire aimed at Stark, somersaulting toward her partner. She crouched over him, ignoring his mumbled “ _I’m fine,_ ” as she checked his injuries. She saw the control harden the swirling emotions in his eyes when his hand closed around his bow, and she knew he would be okay. She grabbed his shoulders roughly, yanking him to his feet and hoping she wasn’t damaging him any further as they both leapt toward Stark to help fight off the guards surrounding him.

 

Natasha hoped the interrogation room this was taking place in was soundproofed, or else they would be overrun with the real security before they managed to fight their way out. The doors near the back of the room burst open and more armed men filed in. Regardless of how many arrows Clint shot, how many knives she threw, and how many punches Tony landed, they all knew they were outnumbered far too great to have a chance at escaping. Natasha edged slightly closer to Clint, not wanting him to be the first to die.

“Romanoff, Barton - you might want to duck!” Stark yelled as held his palms flat against each other and powered up the rockets.

Natasha hardly had time to react before Clint was lunging to the floor and pulling her down on top of him. She landed with a grunt and braced herself against him as some kind of shock wave rippled through the room, slamming everyone above chest height against the outer walls, their dazed bodies slumping to the ground.

Tony staggered to one knee and let the suit fall to pieces around him, breathing heavily. Natasha’s eyes widened - she had no idea he could do anything _that_ powerful, but she was more concerned that Clint had just thrown himself to the floor and used his own body to cushion her fall when he was already so injured. She pushed herself up, taking his hand and helping him to stand.

“We need to leave. Now.” Tony managed, struggling back to his feet as the piece of his suit magnetising together and folded back into the case.

“Copy that,” she muttered, dropping her guns back into her thigh holsters and sliding an arm around Clint’s back to brace his weight. He gave her a sour look that said ‘ _I can walk on my own,’_ but by the way he was leaning against her, she knew he could hardly stand.

 

They slipped back out of the door, hurrying through the hoards of people who were giving them curious looks. Natasha followed Stark down a staircase into the subway, dragging Clint along with her, the fingers of her supporting arm pressed into his clothes, taking his femoral pulse. She knew they didn’t have time to be slowing down, but if his pulse got to faint she was stopping.

 

When they reached the platform, Tony gave a quick glance around the station, ensuring no one was directly watching them, before jumping down onto the tracks and disappearing into the dark tunnel.


	61. CLINT 2020 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint was a little more injured than they realised. They're so close to the Tower, but will all of them make it in one piece?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: I am incredibly sick, so if any of this is a jumble of useless words then I apologise. My brain functioning is currently a lot lower than usual.

 

Clint was growing incredibly frustrated by his partners instance on helping him walk. He didn’t need her help. He wasn’t in pain. The fact that he wasn’t feeling pain because he wasn’t feeling _anything_ wasn’t relevant. Nor was the fact that his body was probably shutting down and that if any more of his limbs went numb he would probably pass out. Point is - he was not in pain. He did not need help walking.

 

He shrugged her arms off him as they approached the edge of the platform, eyeing the drop to the uneven stone below. He crouched by the edge of the gap, taking in a sharp breath when a dislodged rib pressed into him at a bad angle. Natasha rolled her eyes and jumped down ahead of him, holding an arm up for him to balance on. He ignored her hand, dropping down beside her on his own. So what if he stumbled a bit on his landing?

She noticed. _Of course_. She immediately stepped back into his personal space, winding an arm around his back and taking most of his weight on her small frame. He didn’t bother protesting this time, not trusting himself to speak in his current situation. He was slightly dizzy, and probably suffering from blood loss, maybe even a concussion. Not to mention her hand against his hip was really not helping him think straight at all.

“You better know where this leads, Stark.” Natasha grumbled, “if we get lost I will _keeahhruuszz_.”

_What?_

Clint looked over to Natasha with a raised brow, because she has never said something so undignified in her whole life, but both her and Tony were still staring straight ahead as though nothing had happened. _Weird…_

Clint continued to stare at Tony when he realised he was speaking silently, but he was too dizzy to read his lips. Why was his mouth moving if he wasn’t saying anything?

He turned to frown at his partner, but she was speaking silently back to Tony just as casually. What the heck is-

_Oh._

 

Clint reached a shaky hand up to his left ear to check his hearing aid, only to find it missing. _Damn. That explains the silence though._ He pulled his right aid out and checked over it in the dim light. It seemed to be functional. He placed it back in, but when he pulled his hand away as second time, a dark, sticky substance was coating his fingers.

_Aw, ear, no._

He shoved his remaining aid in his pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. At least they were nearly home. He tapped on Natasha’s shoulder and was going to sign something to her but couldn’t think of anything to say. She turned her head to stare at him expectantly, and when he stared blankly back her brow furrowed.

‘Clint?’ Her lips formed his name but he didn’t hear it. She tilted her head and placed a hand against his forehead and _wow that feels nice_. Her fingers were icy cold against his throbbing head, and she was muttering something but he didn’t care what she was saying because he felt fine. He could still stand _( ~~mostly~~ ) _and she was right here and she was holding him so he smiled dumbly at her because it was the only thing he could remember how to do. But then she was frowning worriedly, and he didn’t like the way it saddened her pretty face. He blinked and was going to say something about it but it was getting really dark wherever they were and Natasha was looking at him sideways and he could feel something sharp jutting into his back. He blinked again but this time he couldn’t open his eyes again because they were all heavy but when he kept them shut it felt warm and nice and

“‘m just gone have a lil… nap…” he said to himself as everything went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clint’s eyes shot open when he felt a sharp prick in the side of his thigh. _Owww_. He blinked up at the two faces staring down at him and smiled when he recognised the angry set of green eyes boring into his own.

“Tasha.” He exclaimed, but no sound came out so he cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder, “Tasha!”

She rolled her eyes and covered her mouth with her hand, drawing a finger to her lips, telling him to shush. That confused him, because he hadn’t made any sound. It was incredibly quiet. He tried to ask her why it was so quiet but she was still clamping his mouth shut. A warmth was spreading from a stinging spot on his thigh, and he looked down to see an adrenaline injector sticking out of his leg. _Well shit._

> Can you stand?

Natasha signed to him, pulling her hand from his face and raising an worried eyebrow. He nodded, taking the hand she extended to him and pulling himself up beside her. He leant against her for a moment, tugging the syringe from his thigh. Tony was staring at him weirdly, his eyebrows pulled together like a furry caterpillar. Clint chuckled slightly, and pointed it out to Natasha, who batted his hand away with an eye roll and tugged him by the waist along the tunnel with her.

 

He stared around at their unfamiliar surroundings for a moment before remembering that they were in a subway tunnel, leaving the airport.

And he had just passed out on the tracks.

No wonder his partner looked worried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint's gone into shock, so Nat thinks fast and gives him an epinephrine shot. Usually used to treat allergic reactions, but also helps with low blood pressure and stuff so for the sake of a fic, it works. 
> 
> Being in shock is super weird. I feels kinda like going to sleep all cosy and warm but at the same time everything feels wrong. I always end up complimenting people.


	62. TONY 2055 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has to deal with a disorientated and clingy Clint, and an overprotective yet still cold as ice Natasha.

 

“Why’s he pointing at my face?” Tony blinked uneasily as Barton grinned goofily at him. “What the hell just happened? He’s being quiet and its weird. What did you stab him with? What’s even going on? I swear if one of you don’t start talking immediately I will-“

“He was in shock, Stark.” Natasha cut him off, eyes still focuses worriedly on Clint. “Blood loss, possible concussion. Lost his left aid, burst eardrum on the right. I gave him adrenaline, but if we don’t get him home within thirty minutes, there will be problems.”

Tony frowned, but took the hint to shut up and get moving, allowing himself a second to smirk inwardly as Barton clung unabashedly to her arm. If it wasn’t for his disorientated state, Tony knew Natasha would have pulverised Clint for his proximity.

“Right, well.” Tony gestured to the ladder. “Ladies first.”

“Oh hell no, Stark. There is _no_ _way_ I am going up there first so you trolls can stare at my ass.” She scowled, “You first, I have to help Barton.”

Tony snorted. As if _he_ was the one that would be staring. He glanced over at Clint, who was still leaning heavily on his partners side.

“Oh come on, Spider, I swear I wasn’t even _thinking_ about that. It’s just that the ladder is a bit rusted, and you’re the lightest and the nimblest. So if you go up first, and it breaks, we can catch you and find a better way. Whereas I don’t think you want to be catching me if I make that fall.”

She glared at him, before scanning her eyes over the ladder again with a sigh.

“Whatever. Fine. If I get up fine and _you_ break the ladder, I am _leaving you here to suffer in the dark._ ” She spat, shoving Barton off her and tentatively resting one foot against the bottom rung of the ladder. When it didn’t immediately crumble beneath her boot, she turned back to face them. She signed something to Barton, and he nodded at her in return. She raised an eyebrow, but eventually must have believed whatever she said, because she turned back to Tony.

“Right, if I fall, leave the catching to Barton. If you even _try_ to catch me, I will make you regret it Stark. Once I reach the top, send him up next, but watch him carefully - if he passes out or misses a rung, he’s going to land on you.” She said firmly, turning once more and beginning to climb up the creaky ladder.

 

Once she was about eight feet off the ground, Clint stepped up to the ladder below her and held it firmly to prevent the wobbling it was doing. He tipped his head up, watching her climb above him with ridiculous ease.

“The manhole leads to a path below a footbridge, so you don’t have to worry about anyone spotting us. Just pop it open and climb on out.” Tony called up to her, staring at the walls, and at the ladder, and at Barton, and at anything except  _her._

“I got it, tell Barton to start climbing.” She called back down as the sound of a heavy cover being pushed aside echoed through the shaft. Tony nudged Barton’s shoulder and nodded. He prodded one of the rungs suspiciously.

“Enjoy the view, Tony.” Barton slurred with a smirk before he began to climb. Tony cringed, but watched him closely as he clambered up the ladder, tensing anytime the man above him swayed slightly, or the ladder creaked a little too loudly. Eventually he got close enough to the top for Natasha to haul him out into the cold night air above.

“You’re up, Stark.” She yelled down at him. “Are you gonna be alright carrying the suit? It’s kinda heavy, you could try tossing it up to us…”

“No way I’m throwing a thousand dollar suit and leaving it to your catching skills. I’ll manage.” He grumbled, pulling the strap from his carry bag over his shoulders and beginning to slowly climb. He didn’t have a problem with heights, in fact he quite enjoyed flying high above the ground in his suit. But having a large drop below him, stopped only by his aching arm muscles and a rusted ladder, was really not the same. He ignored the noises the ladder made as he climbed, focussing straight ahead and avoiding looking down.

 

When he reached the top, he was surprised to see Natasha extending a hand down to help him. He took it warily, and she pulled him up out of the manhole, and wow it was nice to feel solid ground beneath his feet again. He kicked the covering back over the opening in the ground.

“Tadaa! Didn’t get us killed, and now we aren’t being followed.” Tony smiled in relief. “I’m great, I know. You can thank me later.”

“Brilliant, Stark,” Natasha drawled, “but now what? Do you even know where we are?”

“Of course I know where we are. The tower is 138m east. I know about the hidey holes around my home.” He crossed his arms, slightly put off by her lack of faith in his plan. “And now we go back to the tower, I kiss my girlfriend, we have a _lot_ of coffee, and then figure out what the fuck happened. But first, coffee!” Tony announced.

Clint had been staring at his lips, and even in his weakened state must have been able to recognise the word ‘coffee’ because his eyes filled with hope and he stood up a little straighter.

Natasha rolled her eyes at both of them, turning and walking in the direction Tony had indicated, sticking to the shadows. They two men followed after her, glancing around the empty streets as they walked home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teeheehee. hee hee. hee. 
> 
> they're nearly home!  
> isn't it great!  
> what could possibly go wrong now???
> 
> (:
> 
> heuheuehueuheuhe


	63. PEPPER 2115 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper is a patient person.  
> She managed to remain calm for all 104 days of Tony's kidnapping in 2010.  
> Three whole months and twelve days.  
> 2946 hours! 149, 760 minutes!
> 
> Okay looking back, maybe she wasn't so collected...
> 
> This time, Tony's only been gone three days but she's already close to tearing out her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer chapter, but we're quite close to the end :)
> 
> Any predictions for whats going down??

 

Pepper had been meticulously organising and reorganising every file and piece of paper in all of the offices. She did this all with one hand, of course, the other always holding her phone in case Tony called. After manually changing records from chronological, to alphabetical, to numerical, back to chronological, she eventually gave up on the endless distraction, and resigned to sitting at a desk. Waiting in silence. The hours had blurred into days, and the emptiness of the Tower was unsettling. Usually it was a hive of activity, but with the three of them in Russia, Steve and James in hiding, Thor back in Asgard, and Dr Banner taking a break, Pepper was left on her own in the echoing quiet.

 

A faint scuffle from down the corridor knocked her out of her thoughts and she stood warily, wondering who was there.

_Dr Banner? He insists on knocking and waiting for someone to let him in…_

_James isn’t allowed in unaccompanied, and Steve is polite enough to call ahead…_

_Thor would have announced himself loudly by now… which leaves…_

She stepped out into the hallway hopefully, marching down toward the front door.

 

Agent Romanov rounded the corner ahead of her, an arm supporting a battered but relatively safe looking Agent Barton. The archer offered a slight smile as they passed, heading toward the medical bay. Romanov avoided her eyes, passing by quietly. Pepper’s heart sped up slightly at seeing them, and she hurried around to corner, heels clicking loudly.

“Honey, I’m home.” Tony mumbled in exhausted relief as he shuffled toward her. He shot her a half assed smile, and the suitcase suit crashed to the floor as he opened his arms wide. Usually she would have chided him for being careless and noisy, but she was far too busy trying rushing over to him and wrapping her arms around him carefully.

“Tony! I was so worried!” She hugged him tightly, wary of the likeliness of him being covered in injuries, “Why didn’t you call?”

"Was kinda busy not dying." He mumbled into her shoulder. "But we're 'kay now, right?” He lifted his head so he could meet her eyes. “Right?”

Watching his eyes flick over her, she could've laughed. He was worried for /her/. Of course he was, that was why he didn't ring her either. Because unbeknownst to most, Tony Stark has a heart. Hell, when he was first back from Afghanistan the first thing he did was notice she'd been crying.

"Yes, yes we're okay, just try not to do anything like that any time soon.” She said with a half smile as she wrapped her arm around his neck.

"Trust me I have no intentions of doing anything slightly dangerous for at least 93 hours." He sighed, staring tiredly into her eyes. His brow was furrowed in his typical expression of not wanting to tell her something. "Pep... I need to find the hole in our security and patch it up before something else happens."

"Only 93? Tony..." She sighed, shaking her head, knowing it would be a futile argument. "Now?! Really, can't you take a break? You're going to keel over, Tony, you need to stop for a bit!" Her protests, she knew, would go ignored but she had to try. She'd always keep trying, maybe hopefully one day soon he'd actually listen. No way in _hell_ she was letting him come back from something like this and _get straight back into work!_ To think, people called _her_ the workaholic.

"Pepper." He let out a breath, and although she hated his tone, it was nice to hear him saying her name again. "Someone drugged you. Someone got into the tower and drugged you. And yeah you can insist you’re fine, but it happened. It could happen again, or something worse could happen. You know I couldn't live with that." He was right. He generally was, unless it came to analysing his health.

"...I know,”she finally sighed, leaning into his chest just to hear the gentle hum of the arc reactor that she had missed hearing so much. “Come and find me when you're done? Please? So I can force you if necessary to take a break?"

"You um. You could come with me. Second set of eyes might be useful." He muttered, and straight away she recognised it as a feeble excuse to hide the fact that he didn't want to be alone.

"Of course," she hummed, nodding, "I'd love to help." Words passed unspoken between them, silent pleas and hidden thank yous, for coming home safe and for agreeing to stay with him and every little thing in between. "Anything you need, Mr Stark," she added with a small, teasing smile.

"Would a coffee be too much to ask?" He sighed in his typical TonyStark way, slipping his hand into hers and heading to his workshop.

"Not at all," she chuckled, squeezing his hand gently and following him, shaking her head. He was entirely incorrigible, but somehow she'd managed to fall in love with that. Maybe that just made her an idiot. Oh well. "Dare I ask, did you leave Dum-E to wash up your mugs?"

"Ohhh dear. I can just drink from the pot. The mugs probably have legs by now..."

"Say that again, Tony, and I walk," she said with a pointed look, but an amused smile. "You're lucky I hid a spare stash of mugs in your workshop, behind the cereal box in the cupboard cos I /knew/ you'd never take that out."

"What would I ever do without you?" He sighed, stepping into the familiar workshop and slumping into the chair by his computer.

 

She just chuckled, heading over to the coffee machine and pulling out her hidden mugs. "So what exactly are you looking for to fix?" She asked, hoping that keeping him talking would help him to stay alert enough to finish quicker so he could get some rest.

"If only I knew," he sighed. "JARVIS, have you got any idea how or even /who/ managed to to break our systems?"

She brought two coffee’s over, placing one into his hands and leaning over his shoulder as JARVIS brought up a screen of coding and information.

"When I find out who it was, I'm not sure if I want to beat them senseless or send them flowers." Tony admitted with a sigh, staring lovingly into his coffee and Pepper _totally was not jealous of that coffee right now because damn why doesn’t he look at me like that?_

 

Tony gnawed on the end of his thumb, frowning. "It's actually kinda smart. Whoever it was didn't actually disable or turn off our security, so it didn't set any red lights for us to notice. They just messed with the time signal. Set the clock to advance one second early on every minute so that after 24 hours they had an extra 24 minutes of undocumented time." Tony trailed off, scrolling through the information, his frown deepening.

"Someone got in during the day when security was low, did what they needed to do and got out again within 23 minutes. The clock reset to its proper time, skipping backwards 24 minutes. The doubled up time got erased from the system. They were never here." He let out a low whistle of admiration before slamming his head down against the keyboard. "Dammit I hate when people outsmart me!"

 

Pepper winced when he randomly decided to crash into the desk. "Woah, hey, the keyboard didn't deserve that," she said, pulling his head back up and gently rubbing his shoulders. Tony always had more respect for his machinery than he did for himself, which although seemingly odd to some, was surprisingly useful when she wanted him to stop hurting himself with it. "Well now that you know what's wrong, you can fix it, right? Knowing you, you'll probably do better than that and make the system so tight that half the Avengers will get locked outside as a threat till further notice."

"You're right." He exalted slowly, straightening the keyboard out and muttering an apology to the piece of tech under his breath. "Yeah well I just gotta put security on the clocks. Never thought that would even be necessary… Still don't know who it was that got in though... But they must have had access to the tower's framework 24hours before this happened…”

"Is it at all possible to access it offsite?" Pepper asked, brow furrowing as she scanned the words on the computer screen.

"No." Tony grumbled, and took a long sip of his coffee. "So someone either managed to get into the tower... or it was someone who already had access..."

"If it was someone in the tower... Who do you think might have done it?" She didn't /want/ to suspect anyone, but there was a certain redhead who just happened to spring to mind.

"Wait wait shh thinking..." Tony covered his ears and shut his eyes for a moment. After a few seconds his shoulders slumped and his eyes flicked open. "It wasn't someone in the tower." He said, a cautiously weary tone to his voice.

"If it wasn't someone in the tower, who was it?" She asked carefully, mentally flicking through other potential people with confusion.

He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, with a smile that was anything but reassuring.

"I need to talk to Romanov."


	64. CLINT 2125 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were two things Clint was sure of:  
> 1\. His partner was safe, and back in the tower, and things were going to be okay.  
> 2\. He sure as hell was not going to medical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lighthearted filler because someone needed a bit of a cheer up.
> 
> by someone, I mean me.
> 
> i promise nothing bad happens in this chapter or the next :)

 

Clint was struggling in Natasha’s unrelenting grip and she pulled him toward the medical area. She ignored his protests, walking on cold heartedly, despite the evident pain he was in.

“Naaaaaaaaaaat.” He whined, cursing his lowered energy. Usually he would be able to get out of her death grip easily. “C’mon, it’s just a scrape, I don’t need a medical evaluation or anything. Nat. Nat please. Tashaaa.”

> “Either you get stitched up by medical, or you get stitched up by me, which is probably a bad idea as I don’t have much of a bedside manner, am not particularly gentle, and won’t waste time with anaesthetics.”

She signed, raising a perfect eyebrow at him challengingly.

“I hate medical, it smells like artificial happiness.” He grumbled, tugging his arm again but still not managing to even loosen her grip. She groaned, shaking her head, and turning to continue dragging him down the corridor toward the med bay. She stopped infront of the door with a sigh, turning to him.

> “Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

She signed to him, narrowing her eyes before turning swiftly and disappearing into the room.

 

The moment she stepped inside, Clint spun around to find the nearest vent he could escape through. He spotted one about five feet down the corridor, close to the roof. _Gotcha._ He hurried over to it, his numb legs stumbling over each other. Reaching up to remove the grating, he hissed in pain when his sides burned from raising his arms.

“Aww, ribs, no.” He huffed in defeat, glaring at the grate before turning back to the door to wait for his partner.

Natasha stepped back into the corridor with her arms full of medical supplies. She paused, glancing at his sulky expression, then at the vent above him.

“I knew you wouldn’t listen, _pridoorok*_ ,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and nudging him with her shoulder in the direction of the elevators.

“Don’t be ableist.” He retorted, having only picked up the phrase “listen” and a Russian insult from reading her lips.

She stopped, turning back to stare at him in annoyance, she shifted the items in her arms so she could dig into her pocket and pull out one of his old behind the ear aids. She tossed it to him. He caught it with a smile of relief, slipping it around his left ear and turning it on.

“You could have perfect hearing and understand every language that I speak fluently, and you still would never listen to me, you stubborn bird.” She grumbled as she continued walking to the elevators. A weak smile broke on his face at hearing her voice again, even if it was only through one ear. The other was still comfortably numb. Minus the comfortable.

“Me? Stubborn? You said stay put. I stayed put. Can’t say the same for you, Tasha.” He sighed, trotting along after her, endlessly thankful for not having to go into the medical room.

“Hey, I’m not half as stubborn as you,” she growled, flashing him a dangerous sideways glare as the lift doors opened with a _ping._

“Okay but spiders are way more stubborn than birds. It’s just genetics. There’s a bird in your way - you throw something at it, and it flaps off. Spiders do not leave. They chill in your shower, they get in your clothes, they hang on your walls acting like the pay rent.” He complained, and she screwed her eyes shut, probably regretting giving him his aid back, as it only encouraged him to keep speaking. “You put a bird in a cage, it will stay in a cage. But if you trap a spider under a cup, _three will crawl out!_ ” He shuddered. Clint had never been fond of spiders. Except maybe one…

“Are you suggesting that _genetically_ you are part bird? And honestly, have you ever met a seagull? Those demon bird do not leave. If you have food within a 100 mile radius of seagulls - _they will find you._ Kinda like you I suppose.” She quipped as she stepped into the lift. “Besides, if you dislike spiders so much, why not just squash them instead of trapping them?”

“Seagulls do not count as birds.” He replied adamantly, following her into the lift and leaning against the wall opposite her. “They don’t obey the bird code. It’s like a bro-code, for birds. And seagulls don’t follow it.” He smirked. “I only trap spiders so I can eat them later.”

“Bird code?” She deadpanned. “You are disgusting, Clinton, thats a worse thought than squashing them. Why would you give me that mental image? I do not want to imagine anything to do with spiders and your mouth. Not necessary.”

He just continued smirking at her, raising an eyebrow suggestively. She continued to glare at him.

“Birds eat bugs.” He stated nonchalantly, determined to make her suffer for forcing him to get treated for his injuries.

“Ew. Clint you aren’t actually a bird. Now all I can imagine is you ducking out of an air vent with a mouth full of spiders. And they’re all crawling and furry with thousands of legs hanging out.”

“Woah, hey. I _totally_ chew with my mouth closed. I’m not a total slob.” He rolled his eyes, as the elevator arrived at his floor and they stepped out.

“I was trying to tell a horror story where you have no manners, and eat spiders. Come on, it was terrifying.” She retorted blandly. “But seriously, you find spiders so creepy and ‘ _stubborn’_ and irritating, you even screamed like a ten year old that time one was on your pillow - but you aren’t grossed out by the idea of eating them?”

“Natasha.” He said slowly, cringing inwardly at the memory of that massive spider she had totally put in his room on purpose. “I don’t eat spiders. That would be creepy and disgusting. I don’t ever eat bugs. Well… it was just one time, okay, and I regretted it thoroughly. but Sam and I were arguing and okay maybe I am a bit stubborn…”

“Just one time? Clint!” She almost screeched in disgust. His eyes widened as he realised he had overshared a bit.

“It was nothing, really, just the adrenaline talking, I’m speaking gibberish. I got a concussion - I can’t think straight, nothing happened.” He attempted to protect the small shred of dignity he had left.

“If you and Wilson were trying to prove who was the real bird in the Avengers team, I will never let you ‘borrow’ from my coffee supply _ever again._ ” She had a dangerous level of disdain in her tone. _Ooopsies._

“It wasn’t my fault! It was the Mezcal worm! And I only- okay no please stop looking at me like that, it’s kind of terrifying, please stop, ohmygashNatplease, Nat. I’d prefer to be in medical that dealing with this face of judgement. _Tasha stop giving me that look I feel like you’re about to castrate me!_ ” He whimpered as she continued to stare at him in undisguised disdain. After a long moment she finally looked away, and Clint could breathe again. 

“At least tell me that Wilson did something equally disgusting which I can use as blackmail against him next time he messes up the alphabetical order of the spices in the communal kitchen?” She sighed.

“What? Jeez, _I_ didn’t eat the worm. It was his bottle, so I said he had to eat it. He said he wasn’t gonna. I told him that a real bird wouldn’t have a problem with eating bugs. So he said deal, and we both had to eat a bug.” Clint explained.

“That’s it. Next time you and Wilson are together, I am dragging Rogers back from whatever corner of the earth he is in to babysit the two of you.” She muttered, taking his hand and holding it up against the scanner outside his door.

“I don’t need a baby sitter. I am a mature and responsible adult. I’m older than _you_ , Tasha.” Clint said as the door slid open to reveal the cosy mess of furniture he knew to be his home. “Aww, nest, yay. I missed this pace.” He mumbled as he walked in and flopped straight down onto the couch, face first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pridoorok - придурок (moron)


	65. NATASHA 2140 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha doesn't know where to begin with cleaning the mess she has made. She starts by patching up her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even explain how much I adore Clint.

Natasha followed Clint into his room with a sigh, kicking the door shut behind her and dumping the medical equipment onto his coffee table. She cleared a space on the couch beside him and sat down. She sorted through the dressings and products she had brought, rolling up her sleeves.

“Can you take off your shirt, or is it gonna hurt too much?” She asked him, glancing at the blood soaked material clinging to his chest.

“Are you gonna take off yours?”

 _Fwump._ She thumped him over the head with a bright purple cushion from his couch.

“Be a _‘mature and responsible adult,’_ and answer the question. I need to see your injuries.” She scowled at him, fighting to keep the colour from her cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, tugging his arms through the sleeves and wriggling out of the shirt. By the amount of struggling he was doing, she knew it wasn’t _‘fine’_ and that it was actually quiet painful, but she wasn’t about to point that out to him. She winced slightly when the wound came into view. A red and bloodied area across his left ribs going far deeper than she’d thought.

“You were walking with _this?_ Hell - you pulled me to the ground. You climbed a damn ladder… _with this?_ ” She shot him an unimpressed glare.

“In my defence, I didn’t stop and look.” He glanced down and pulled a face, raising his eyebrows with a slightly amused _‘hmpf.’_

Natasha grabbed some gauze from the coffee table and poured some solution onto it, turning back to face him. She focussed on the wound, not letting her eyes wander at all as she used the gauze to gently clean the area.

He took in a sharp breath when her hand came into contact with his exposed skin, and she paused, glancing up at him.

“Don’t be a baby, it’s saline, it shouldn’t even sting.” She watched his expression carefully, but he didn’t seem to be in much pain…

She ignored it, continuing to wipe away the blood as he leaned back against the arm of the couch, eyes shut. When the area was clean, she tossed out the gauze and wiped her hands dry, leaning back over to inspect the wound. It was too jagged to have been just from fists and boots, but not even enough to have been a knife wound. She narrowed her eyes, placing her hand over the surrounding skin to check for inflammation. It seemed most likely that someone had shoved him against the edge of a sharp counter…repeatedly. _Dammit Barton_ _, why’d you put yourself in danger for me?_

She pulled her hand away quickly when he opened one eye to peer at her. Grabbing some steri-strips, she peeled off the adhesive and pinched his skin together as she laid four of the bandages across the laceration. When she was satisfied that it would stay closed, she took a bottle of iodine and poured someone a cloth.

“This is going to sting like a bitch,” she warned before pressing the cloth against his skin. He flinched away from her hand but she held him still, surprised at how quiet he managed to stay despite the evident discomfort she was causing him. She finished as quickly as she could and wrapped an ace bandage softly around the area to prevent his clothes sticking to the wound.

“How’s it feel?” She asked, taking his chin in her hand and tilting his face to the side so she could look at his ear.

“You know when something hurts so much that your brain just blocks it out and you feel nothing? Hmmmm that.” Clint muttered against her hand. It was too inflamed for even a BTE, so he would have to deal with half his hearing for a few days. She sighed, letting him go and standing up. She grabbed an empty coffee mug from the coffee table beside him, then grabbed another one from the floor beside the couch.

“Seriously, I know you’re immature and lazy but c’mon, you could at least _wash your coffee mugs.”_ She grumbled, picking up three more abandoned mugs on her path to his kitchenette.

“My nest - my rules.” He pouted. “Now my room looks all forlorn and lonely without my purple mugs scattered about.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you calling this a nest,” she sighed as she dumped the dirtied mugs in the sink and started brewing a pot of coffee.

“Hey, you’re ruining my shabby chic decor. Stop taking my decorations down!” He whined, wriggling his way under the blanket on the couch and wrapping himself up in it. She walked back in and placed the three of the mugs back where they originally were, but now they were clean and didn’t smell like old coffee.

“Happy now?” She rested her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at the purple burrito on the couch.

“No, because I still don’t have a coffee. I was promised a coffee. Twice. And I still don’t have one. I’d make one myself, but you’d whinge about me being to injured!” The burrito said. She chuckled slightly.

“Fine, you manipulative hawk, I will make you a coffee if you promise not to hurt yourself even more.” She headed back to the kitchenette, where two mugs were already waiting.

“I’m not the manipulative one!” The burrito called out indignantly, while ignoring the important part of her sentence.

“I think I’m rubbing off on you.” She replied blandly, picking up the two coffees. “Ignoring my request is not encouraging me to give you coffee, Barton. I’ll just have to sit here and drink both of these by myself.”

 

He was off the couch and facing her before his body could even react properly to his movements, the purple blanket crumpling into a pile on the ground as he glared at her, offended. He scrunched his brow in surprise at the burning feeling in his abdomen, leaning back against the couch again as a wave of pain ripped through him. She gritted her teeth and repressed the urge to yell at him.

“It’s my coffee, you thief.” He managed to hiss out between sharp breaths.

She masked her concern with a sly grin, waving the mugs tauntingly at him.

“Promise to take care of yourself, and you can have both.” She smirked, knowing the internal battle she was subjecting him to.

“Aww, Tasha, no. That’s so unfair and I hate you! He shuffled over to the counter and heaved himself onto a stool by the bench.

“No you don’t.” She replied easily, placing the mugs down on the countertop, just out of his reach. “Promise me, Clint.”

“Well,” he rested his chin on his fist, staring longingly at the coffee. “Seeing as I managed to hurt myself _while_ avoiding the request less than two minutes ago, I hardly think it would be right of me to make a promise that I know I can’t keep.”

“Okay, fine, be like that.” She scowled, raising one of the mugs to her lips. “Have fun being under-caffeinated, this smells divine, so unless you make a promise you’re ready to keep, I’m going to really enjoy this.”

“I’ll make my own damn coffee.” He grumbled, getting to his feet and slowly walking around the counter toward her. She stared at him blankly for a moment, before taking a single step toward him and placing her hand right against the injury on his ribs, so that he couldn’t move any further into the kitchen without causing himself intense pain.

“Why won’t you just promise to look after yourself?” She asked softly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Coffee, please Nat. Nat, no, I need it, Nat.” He whined weakly, allowing himself to be steered back toward the couch. “Aww, fine, you win. I promise to try and improve my self preservation skills _if_ you don’t try going on any more revenge plots without me.”

_Der’mo._

“I hate you, but fine. But there is no ‘trying,’ only ‘doing.’” She watched him carefully.

“Okay, yoda, now can I have my coffee?” He gave her an exhausted halfhearted smile, and she finally caved in and passed him the coffee she had been drinking, and heading back to the kitchen to grab the other one for herself.


	66. CLINT 2205

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an attempted heart to heart over coffee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for inactivity. was busy dying from four nosebleeds and an insane mosh pit. Will be posting again when I wake up, it's currently 2am.
> 
> Clint is literally me when it comes to coffee. Wowowowo

 

By the time Natasha made it back to the couch with the second coffee, Clint had already finished drinking his, and was holding his hand out expectantly for another. She rolled her eyes, but passed him her own coffee. Well technically it was _his_ coffee, because it was from _his_ coffee beans in _his_ coffee pot and _his_ purple glittery extra large coffee mug.

“Woah, slow down, that can’t be healthy.” She chided as he brought the second mug straight to his mouth. He paused, blinking once before meeting her eyes, staring at her determinedly as he downed the whole second coffee in one gulp.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her disapproving glare only intensifying as he kept going. When he finished, she groaned, running a hand through her hair as he placed the mug on the floor beside him, much more energised as the warmth spread though him.

“Two minutes, Clint. It’s been two minutes since you promised to take care of yourself, you absolute idiot.”

“S’just coffee, Tasha.” He grinned loftily, craning his neck to stare past her toward the kitchen, wondering if there was still some left in the pot.

“Well then, have fun not dying, and I’ll not head out on any revenge missions without letting you know. I’ll see you later, but if you need anything tell JARVIS to get me, rather than stumbling around the tower looking for me and hurting yourself even more," she said, moving to the door.

"Nat noooo. Um. Wait." He cringed at his awkwardness. "Can you keep me company so I don't get bored and try something dumb?"

She paused mid-step, glancing back at him with an odd expression that was _almost_ surprise, except The Black Widow does not get surprised. By anything. But she nodded, heading back over.

“Sure, I'll babysit you, Barton, if it's really necessary."

He was far too exhausted to keep the relieved grin off his face, so he just ran a hand through his messy hair as an excuse to hide his own expression for a moment.

"Well, since it's a liability to leave you on your own, I don't suppose you have any tea?" She asked, and he had to think over her stance a few times to make sure he had heard right.

”Tea." He repeated blankly. "You want _tea_?“ Maybe his BTE was faulty…

A very slight pout crossed her features. "Would you prefer I took away from your precious amount of coffee?"

"Third cupboard from the right." He said quickly, nursing his empty mug slightly closer to himself instinctively.

She chuckled, heading to the kitchen and boiling the kettle. "For someone who seems so appalled that I might want tea, you own an awfully big box of it."

"Gotta have all the flavours." He grumbled softly, burrowing into the cushions.

"I can't imagine you drinking anything but coffee though," she mused.

He mumbled something non commital in response, wrapping himself around a cushion like an oversized koala. He’d never actually seen a koala, but they looked kinda cool. All fluffy and cuddly, but with killer claws. _Kind of like Tasha…_

"You wanna repeat that, or am I to assume you're a secret tea drinker? In which case I'll have to start hiding mine better." She asked as she came back to perch on the edge of the couch next to him.

"You say that like I don't already sneak into your room through the air vent and steal from your 'hidden' pop tart stash." He drawled lazily, but from the flash of annoyance in her eyes, he realised maybe she hadn’t noticed yet. He had just busted himself. _Oooops._

"Oh you rotten son of a bitch, I had no idea you ever even went into my room!”

"You need to up your spy game. And your hiding places,” he chuckled, “seriously, Tasha, putting snacks under a empty tampon box might deter someone delicited like Steve or Bruce but I'm far too mature to let that stop me from getting my food." He paused before correcting himself. "Your food."

There was a pause, then, "Have you seriously gone through _all_ of my room?!"

"It's not like you have much in your room. Just basic stuff and snacks and knives and a sketch book and _my arrow_." He replied levelly.

She redhead tensed slightly, but otherwise maintained her nonchalant composure. "You always leave your stuff in my room after missions, it's no surprise," she deferred cooly, not meeting his eyes.

"Okay but you didn't even have a room after that mission." He let his head fall backwards into her lap, looking up at her with an eyebrow raised. Her upside down face avoided meeting his eyes, taking a sip of tea.

"You didn't give it to me after that mission, it was about seven months later, after that mess in Caracas," she muttered.

He tilted his head slightly, surprised she had remembered. "Why'd you keep it?"

"Because you did," she replied quietly, “for seven months you kept hold of this one arrow in particular. It's designed to kill, but you made it mean something because it didn't. I guess, I hoped, naively..." she murmured, trailing off as she shook her head.

"You hoped what?" He was still staring up at her, wanting her to say more, but not wanting to scare her into closing up again.

Her brow furrowed as she searched for the right words. "I- well," she sighed, running a hand through her hair, anxiety clearly written over her features.

Any chance at Natasha actually voicing her thoughts was ruined when a telltale ' _ding_ ' echoed through the room, as the lift stopped on Clints floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THREE CHAPTERS LEFT!?


	67. PEPPER 2240 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only when everything falls back into place that you can see the big picture, and this isn't a picture than any of them like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /please use discretion when you're messing with the message man/
> 
> I hate being the bearer of bad news, which is why I'm glad I'm not Tony in this situation... 0_0

 

When they hadn’t found Agent Romanov in her room, they’d checked the medical bay, and failing that, Pepper and Tony were now stepping up to Clint’s door in a tense silence. Pepper reached a hand out to knock, but Tony just shoved the door open and stepped inside. Pepper followed him into the room, raising an eyebrow when sure enough, there was Agent Romanov. On Agent Barton’s couch… with a half dressed Barton laying across her lap, pouting. _Well then._

“Romanov, I thought you’d be here.” Tony folded his arms, tapping his foot and staring anywhere but at the red haired woman glaring at him from the couch. “I uhh- I need to talk to you…”

Barton buried his face in a cushion with a muffled complaint, as Romanov stared calculatingly at the two people who had just stepped into his room.

“Whatever it is, Clint can hear it too.” She said slowly, eyes scanning between Pepper and Tony, likely trying to gauge what they had come to tell her. Pepper frowned, glancing from Tony to the tangled heap of limbs on the couch.

“Maybe it would be best if we took this somewhere else…” Pepper cleared her throat. “Agent Barton may not be in the best state to weigh in on any decision making.” She looked at the bandaging across his chest, wondering if Tony had sustained any injuries too.

“Hawkguy deserves to hear it. He’s done a lot for us all recently…” Tony let out a breath, taking another step into the cluttered area.

Barton’s head slowly popped up from where it was buried in the couch, looking at Romanov for a few seconds before glancing back at them.

“Yeah, I’m okay, shoot.” He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, and tugged a blanket around his shoulders.

“I do believe you’re the ones who will be doing the shooting,” Tony sighed, plopping himself down on a stool by the counter. “Look before I jump to conclusions, there’s something I need to know and I’m sorry but I have to ask… Natasha, how did you get out of the Red Room last week?”

Everyone in the room collectively took in a silent breath, avoiding eye contact and shrinking into themselves as they all waited to hear what was coming next. Other than to cast a wary glance at her partner, Romanov’s statue-like composure remained firm.

“I let them torture me until a point where it was realistic for me to pass out, and waited until my heart rate dropped low enough for them to let their guard down. I stole one of their syringes to pick the locks binding me to the table, and got myself out of there using force when necessary.” She replied neutrally, as though recounting a shopping list, rather than describing an escape from imprisonment. “Why?”

 

Pepper may not have had any of the skill-sets that those in the Avengers had. But she sure was good at observing. She noticed when agent Barton leaned ever so slightly closer to his partner on the couch. She recognised the way Tony was gnawing on his left knuckle, as he always does when formulating how to say something he doesn’t want to say.

“You were permitted to escape in order for you to come back here and get them access to the tower.” Tony stated bluntly, eyes fixed on the tips of his shoes. “They’re going after someone or something else, through you.”

“You’re sure?” Romanov asked, showing less surprise than Pepper was currently experiencing. When Tony remained stonily silent, they all knew he wouldn’t have mentioned it unless he was certain.“You could all be at risk.” She muttered, glancing at her partner.

“I mean, think about it logically.” Tony started, speaking slightly faster like he did when he was working something out, or when he was nervous… or both. “They know you well. _Too_ well. They let you go so you would come back here. They waited for you to hack the Tower’s systems, knowing you would want to go back once you were healed. It saved them from having to breach the security. They then got access to the tower long enough to pull our strings. Pepper passes out. You get free. We go after you. With Steve, Bruce an Thor already out of the question… suddenly, the Tower is just about empty.”

The spy did nothing but blink uneasily as she processed the information, avoiding making eye contact with any of them, even as Barton repeatedly tried to catch her attention.

“The whole place could be bugged… or rigged to blow.” Romanov said hollowly, not quite managing to conceal the tremble in her hands.

“Tasha?” Barton’s softer tone cut through the air, sitting up more to watch her with a concerned look.

‘I’m fine.” She replied, slipping out from under his shoulders and stepping away from the three of them, turning to stare out of the window.

“Agent Ro- Natasha.” Pepper started slowly. “If they wanted any of us dead, we wouldn’t be sitting here. I’ve been alone in the tower for days now, and no one has bothered me. They aren’t trying to hurt us. It’s more likely they’re after information or influence. This tower holds limitless bargaining chips. Technology, government intel, super soldiers…” She trailed off, thinking. She hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary in her weekend of pacing about the empty tower. “Maybe it’s blackmail. Or a scare campaign. Maybe they’re trying to get to Doctor Banner, or Rogers, or even the Winter Soldier.”

“We need to contact the others,” Tony nodded. “There’s no telling how much information they have.”

“They don’t do scare campaigns.” Romanov stated blandly, turning back to face them with her blank mask back on. “Assets are only useful if they’re controllable, so that rules out Banner, but Barnes is still a prime target, as is Rogers. They have history with Barnes, and it’s no secret that Roger’s has valuable blood. We need to warn them.”

“I can- JARVIS will-“ Tony stumbled over his words, took a deep breath, and then started again. “Don’t worry yourself about that. We’ll sort it out, I just thought you deserved to know straight away. They still see you as one of their weapons, even if you don’t want to be. They’re using you, so just… stay safe. All of you. Please.”

Pepper reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. They would be safe as long as they stuck together until JARVIS could get through to the others. JARVIS had likely been listening to the conversation, and was already sending out signals. So the priority now was for them all to have a dammed rest.

“ _I’ll_ take care of contacting the rest of the team. You can _all_ take a second to recover. It’s near eleven, and you’ve all been through a fair bit. Romanov, Tony, back to your rooms. Barton needs to heal, and you all need to sleep.” Pepper spoke determinedly, using her ‘Mom Voice’ even though she knew that none of them had really had much experience decent parenting.

“Yeah, okay, thanks Pepper. We’ll help out when we can stand up straight. Tony… try not to freak, we’ll be okay.” Barton said with a halfhearted yet still warm smile.

“You try not to freak, freak.” Tony shot back with a frown, and Pepper rolled her eyes, tugging him out of the room, one hand fixed firmly on his wrist and the other already dealing Fury.

“I’ll get JARVIS to send you guys updates as soon as we hear back from the team. Now bedtime, both of you.” She called out as the door shut behind them and they walked back to the lift.


	68. CLINT 2205 SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint knew something bad was coming when Tony delivered the news. Now he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops this is the last chapter.  
> but in true MCU fashion I'm going to write some after credit action.
> 
> ummm... sorry?

 

Clint had been sitting on his own for over an hour, but had way too much caffeine and unhappy thoughts to possible consider sleeping. Natasha had left soon after Tony and Pepper did, and he did not believe in the slightest that she had gone back to her room to sleep. He was worried about her. Of course he was. ~~Not because he loved her~~. Because he recognised the defeat in her eyes when Stark had stepped through the door. Because he saw the way she nearly flinched when he called her a weapon. Because she had left her half finished tea on his coffee table.

 

Once his worries were so extreme that it drowned out the pain in his side, he stood up and tugged a jumper on, kicking open the grating in his bedroom and squatting down to crawl into the shaft. The familiarity of the empty coldness immediately helped him calm down as he shuffled through familiar metal pathways, deprogramming from the hectic weekend and putting his thoughts in their proper places. He shimmied silently across the smooth steel, sliding down a vertical incline to the floor below him and toward his partners room out of instinct.

 

Even without his marvellous sense of direction, he would have known he had arrived about Natasha’s bedroom from the state of the steel surrounding the grating that looked down onto the carpet below. The corners were scratched and worn from constantly unscrewing the covering so he could steal food from her kitchenette. The walls of the vent were covered in fruit stickers and purple sharpie from the endless hours he had laid above her room, waiting for her to return from a solo mission. He slid forward silently, peering down to spot his friend.

 

* * *

 

She was moving swiftly around the room below him, caught up in her thoughts, but even as he dropped quietly onto the carpet behind her, he knew from the stiffness in her shoulders that she had heard him. She turned slowly to meet his shocked eyes with her own blank stare, no visible reaction to the anguished disappointment he was feeling.

“Tasha…why are you packing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- end -


	69. POST CREDIT SCENE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> approximately 4,600 miles away...

Somewhere in the snow, two figures leaped from the back of a freight train and rolled to cover behind a low wall. They were both carrying large backpacks, and the hoods of their jackets were pulled low over their eyes. The darker haired man tucked a gloved hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.  
"There's a safe house close by," he murmured to the blonde man beside him. "It's not strictly mine, but I've stayed there a lot. The owner doesn't mind, as long as I keep her vodka supply stocked up."

 

* * *

 

 

They ran together through the shadows, down darkened Russian streets, toward an unassuming and bland house, that blended easily with the identical houses that lined the emptied road. The darker haired man approached the door, using his ungloved hand to punch a code into the keypad. The door opened quietly and they stepped inside. 

 

He went straight upstairs to scout the building, while the blonde man checked downstairs for bugs, as they had done countless times in each new location they spent the night hiding in. When they were satisfied they met back in the kitchen, dumping their bags on the floor and took their jackets off. The blonde man collapsed onto the couch while the other man pulled off his glove and started checking the food supplies.

 

He paused, the light glinting off his metal fist as it closed around the handle to the cupboard, his brow furrowing.

"What is it?" Steve asked, sensing his unease.

"She was here..." Bucky trailed off, turning back to look at what had caught his attention. Three mugs were sitting on the drying rack, water still dripping from them, as though they had been cleaned only hours earlier. "Natalia was here."


End file.
